


The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot

by starclipped



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, Memories, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slow Burn, Stucky - Freeform, Temporary Character Death, bucky's emotional journey, buckynat brotp, comic ideas, feelings are eventually discovered, mcu - Freeform, pretty much all about bucky's life after catws, side Clintasha, tons of side characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 138,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1880001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starclipped/pseuds/starclipped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recovery is a long and difficult process. Luckily, the Avengers are there to help. But finding himself isn't the only problem Bucky faces, not by a long shot, and soon he ends up tasked with more than just picking up the shattered pieces of his tragic life.</p>
<p>
  <i>“I don’t know if I want help,” he admits, because he can’t understand that half of him needs it like water when the other half tries to avoid it like the plague. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The Captain smiles a little, so softly. “You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. if it makes you less sad, i will die by your hand

**Author's Note:**

> Well. First off, I wanted to write, so I started writing, and then I realized /why/ I don't write. I'm not good... at all. But due to my obsession with CATWS, I, apparently, could care less. So here, have a story about Bucky Barnes and his lengthy recovery-slash-discovery. This is very Bucky-centric. It kind of has some pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier in the beginning and heavily features the events of the film at the start. What comes after is obviously made up, so expect canon-divergence. Currently, I have close to 90k words written and still have quite a bit to go. Expect this story to be long and very, very slow on the Steve/Bucky (like so slow that it's close to 90k and Bucky's only starting realize he has feelings, okay). If you can stomach my awful writing, I hope you enjoy.

The Winter Soldier can’t remember what a bullet piercing his skin feels like, or if he’s ever known. He can’t recall if the blade of a knife has ever gotten past his armor. He doesn’t know if his bones have ever been broken, though he does know that something happened to him, once (he can’t remember how long ago), that gave him a metal arm.

__________________________________________

The Winter Soldier is good at what he does – or so he’s told. He’s a ghost in the field, untouchable by targets and allies alike. The Winter Soldier can do more than any man, because he’s _not_ a man; he’s a well-oiled machine, the fiercest weapon on the shelf. He’s the reaper that never fails to collect the lives that have been (not by him, never by him) deemed finished.

The Winter Soldier, however, knows what pain feels like, can remember it even when he forgets. It’s a pain he can’t escape because it’s inside his head. Sometimes he feels like his brain might rot if he’s left out of the cold for too long.

__________________________________________

He’s not entirely sure why he knows certain things because he can’t recall learning them. The Winter Soldier knows a handful of languages (Russian, German, English – probably more that he isn’t even aware of); he knows how his arm works and how to do basic repairs; he knows how to use guns and grenade launchers, as well as how to pilot aircrafts and drive automobiles; he also knows how to fight, how to block and how to land when he’s pushed or pulled, and he knows how to kill with a quiet efficacy that no one else he’s come across can rival. He doesn’t remember learning these things, but he remembers _how_ to do them, always, because that’s all that’s important.

The Winter Soldier knows how to follow orders, too; knows that if he doesn’t then there’ll be more pain and more pressure in his head. Each time, he thinks he might explode, but he never does, and all that’s left is a fleeting thought of “ _why this time?”_ before he has to forget the pain and focus on the mission. Sometimes his mission is to be frozen again (and it is _again_ because he knows he’s been frozen before, just doesn’t know how many times or for how long). When he’s frozen he can’t remember or forget and he’s not sure which is worse – or if either is even bad – but he ends up confused no matter what.

__________________________________________

His handlers have a routine for him after each defrosting. He can remember a few of the times vaguely, just enough to know this is what he does, what he’s always done, that it’s normal. His heartbeat slows down and he breathes a little easier once his mind can settle on the thought that he _knows_ this and what comes next. Sometimes words are in his mind that he can’t control, whispering to him in a soothing voice he’s never heard before. The words never mean anything to him so he forgets them like everything else… but sometimes they come back and, he thinks, it’s not really _forgetting_.

The Winter Soldier has memories, but they don’t fit as well together as he thinks they ought to. Sometimes, when he’s being prepped for a mission, he can see images behind his eyelids when he blinks. He sees a circle on a door with blue eyes in the reflection just before the ice takes him under. It’s him, he understands, but the hair on his head is short and it’s not now and he thinks it means he’s been through this for a while.

Sometimes he can remember seeing an older man; he had a mustache and drove an expensive car. There was a crash that he knows he caused because he can still see it through the scope of his sniper rifle. (It’s a weapon he’s always preferred, for whatever reason.)

He doesn’t know that he used to remember other things. It’s been a long time since he fought against his handlers. He doesn’t remember that, either.

With all his confusion, there are things he _knows_ , things he doesn’t forget.

He is The Winter Soldier. He is an assassin. He works for HYDRA, is part of its foundation (but he _isn’t_ HYDRA and he doesn’t _heil_ it). He knows he has missions and handlers. He knows he has a metal arm with a red star near his shoulder. He knows they wake him when they really need to get something done because he doesn’t fail, he _can’t_ fail, why would he?

He knows he gets ‘prepped’ and ‘wiped’ and ‘put on ice.’ He knows it’s because he’s dangerous (but at the same time, no threat to them). He knows he’s an asset, that he’s important to his handlers, and that he has been for a while. He knows, he knows, he knows, and yet he _doesn’t_. It’s meant to be that way.

__________________________________________

The only time The Winter Soldier can remember feeling anything is when he’s strapped to a chair getting his brain fried. Sometimes it makes him remember things he thinks he forgot the last time the machine encased his head and arms. He remembers a question popping into his head, refusing to settle down until he said it out loud. His voice was low, scratchy, and when he spoke it made the doctor at his side twitch.

“Have I been on a train?”

His hair touched the tip of his ears then.

The doctor stopped tinkering on The Winter Soldier’s arm, looked at him for a moment, and then he stood, rushing over to talk to a man in a suit. The Winter Soldier watches his newest handler approach with the doctor not far behind, and the man looks at him. His accent is thick but The Winter Soldier could understand him just fine.

“You’ve not been on a train,” the man tells him.

“There was one,” The Winter Soldier says softly; he doesn’t say ‘I have’ because he’s been told he _hasn’t_ , but the thought makes the back of his mind tickle and he can’t quite let it go. His eyes dart around for a moment before he looks his handler in the eyes, voicing what he thinks he remembers. “The doors closed by themselves.”

It’s all he can say before the mouth guard comes out and he’s being strapped down again. He doesn’t know why he has to be wiped when he has a mission to prepare for, but it happens. It’s the only thing that hurts, makes his throat feel raw from screaming.

His mind is fuzzy until they brief him again.

There are no more trains in his thoughts. There never were.

__________________________________________

The Winter Soldier doesn’t ask about anything anymore. He doesn’t care to know. He thinks maybe it was different at one point… _Maybe_ he remembers asking about what would happen to a child after he assassinated the parents ( _Why both of them?_ ).

It’s not like that anymore.

The Winter Soldier does what he’s told, no questions asked. He kills his target, reports in, and waits for new instructions.  He waits to be cleaned up and locked away like the weapon he is.

__________________________________________

The Winter Soldier thinks he remembers going after someone that was being escorted by a red-headed woman. He shot his target through her and left.

__________________________________________

He doesn’t know how long he’s usually out of ice. He doesn’t know if it’s weeks or months or years. All he knows is that, every time he wakes up for a mission, the world looks a lot different. Things got bigger and then they got smaller; technology got smarter; people got richer and HYDRA got stronger. When he’s out of cryo for days at a time, his hair grows. It’s not enough.

The Winter Soldier doesn’t know when he was created, has only been told that he’s a gift to mankind. He’s been on many missions (more than he actually remembers) and has served them for what feels like both a long and short amount of time. He always finishes his tasks before it can confuse him too much

__________________________________________

Sometimes he thinks he remembers teaching people things. He remembers agents and spies and other soldiers coming to him, ready to learn skills that maybe only he could teach. He doesn’t know where he got _his_ skills and knowledge, why it’s all muscle memory and reflex, but it is and he never has to worry, never has to be afraid of his opponent. _He_ is fear, to everyone else.

He teaches people how to strike with power, how to be fast and silent. He teaches people how to be ready for anything, though they never quite understand that he truly means _anything_. He kills some of them; it’s an accident on most occasions.

He remembers teaching a small girl with fiery hair how to move swiftly, how to hit moving targets and how to break necks with legs squeezing tight. He remembers her taking to it with ease, doing it differently than he did. He remembers thinking that maybe she was more, too – more than human, more of a weapon, more of an asset and a threat.

He remembers teaching a blond boy how to throw a punch in an alleyway with blood and dirt and smiles on their faces. It seems more like a dream he had once a long time ago, so maybe it is.

The Winter Soldier has other dreams sometimes, if he’s out of the ice long enough to need a rest. He smells smoke and blood and sweat, tastes all of it, too. But he can only see snow.

He’sThe _Winter_ Soldier, after all.

__________________________________________

The Winter Soldier can feel when the ice starts pulling away from his body, trying to take his skin with it. He’s numb, always numb, and when his already opened eyes come into focus he can see himself again. He can remember thinking that he looked the same as the last time he saw himself in that reflection, that there are never any changes between when he went under and when he comes out. But everything outside of the cryo-chamber looks different. So do the people, even if most of them are in lab coats or SWAT gear or tailored suits.

When the door opens with a deafening hiss and he’s pulled out of the freezer and into the warmer room, his body starts to convulse. He barely feels it, but the doctors have a syringe ready and they jam it into his flesh arm. It makes him feel boneless for a little while.

He can see that he’s in a cage… or maybe it’s just a room with metal bars. Maybe it means the same thing. Either way, the walls are full of tiny boxes and the place is tinged in faded green, unfamiliar, but he (mostly) recognizes the surrounding machines and equipment. There are people around, checking things or watching him from the other side of the bars. They have guns. He could kill them all within minutes without getting hit once.

The Winter Soldier doesn’t move though, and lets them drag him up and onto his chair. It’s _his_ chair because no one else ever sits in it or has to be strapped down, shocked until everything turns black. So it’s _his_ , even if he doesn’t want it; even if he doesn’t _want_.

When he becomes more alert he notices that his arm is being taken care of with the utmost precision and has all the focus in the room. He also notices that his hair is sticking to his face and that he might need something to give him energy. No one thinks of these things so maybe they aren’t important. He doesn’t know.

They tell him, without looking into his eyes, that he should try to move his arm. He does; it’s as fast as ever and the whirring is quieter. They tell him to move his fingers, so he clenches his fist and the people flinch. They tell him that they implemented something new into his arm and it’s supposed to be more streamlined, more durable and capable of greater strength. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at the bars in the distance, looking behind the people watching from the other side. He hears the footsteps before he sees the man.

The people behind the bars move to the side, allowing a suited man entrance into the small room. He’s followed by a group in black, all of them carrying weapons. He thinks maybe he recognizes them, especially the man with the light hair. He’s older than the brief image in his mind, but he looks identical.

“I’m Pierce,” the man says, as if the Winter Soldier didn’t know, is not supposed to remember. “You report to me.” The man stares at him for a moment, gauging his cooperation, and seems satisfied with the lack of response. “We have a mission that requires your assistance. You wouldn’t be involved if it weren’t important. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” The Winter Soldier answers automatically.

Pierce gives a tight-lipped smile and holds out his hand. One of the doctors hands him a file that he flips through quickly, skimming it over as if he knows every detail already. Then he pulls out a picture and sticks it in front of The Winter Soldier’s face.

“This is Nicholas J. Fury, Director of SHIELD. His betrayal of HYDRA has terminated his usefulness. Your mission is to take him out,” he says with a sigh, as if he’s tired of the situation. “Our team will make it easy for you.”

They don’t really make it easier, just more complicated. HYDRA’s people chase Nick Fury in his big black car, weaving around and crashing into traffic. The Winter Soldier walks out into the street, watching as the car comes into view. He aims and hits the trigger of what he’s told is a fairly new weapon. A disc flies forward and latches onto the underside of the car, blowing the back end up into the air, and he watches with calculating eyes, slowly stepping to the side as the smoke billows around him and the car skids to a halt.

He moves at a steady pace, eyes never leaving the vehicle that hides his target. When he gets close enough, he reaches his hand out, metal fingers clamping down over a metal door, and with barely any pull he rips it off its hinges and flings it aside. Bending down, he looks inside; his target has escaped.

It’s an inconvenience and the possibility of failure makes him angry.

He reports back to Pierce, as he’s told, and though his handler is annoyed he tells him that they have eyes everywhere. It’s not a long wait before he’s informed on where to find his target again. He leaves, slipping into the darkness with his sniper rifle held closely against him. No team follows him. There won’t be any mistakes now.

He sees the building; it’s an apartment complex of someone that his target knows. He finds a place, lies down on his stomach and waits with his gun trained at the wall. He shoots – one, two, three.

A man inside drags his downed target. The Soldier waits a moment, watches, and then he runs. The man is pursuing him – The Winter Soldier can hear the window shatter behind him and the air shifts when something flies toward him. He turns and catches a shield in his metal hand, sees the face of his purser change, and then he throws it back hard enough to allow him an easy escape.

When The Winter Soldier reports back, Pierce tells him that Nicholas Fury is in the hospital. They wait in the barred room. He puts himself near a corner, watching, his mask still covering half of his face. He doesn’t say anything when his handler announces that Director Fury has been eliminated. He waits for his next mission.

__________________________________________

They let him out of the room with the green walls as he waits for new orders. They let him go into the room with the weapons and don’t bother him when he picks each one up, scanning them with efficient eyes and hands.

A man with a black t-shirt and spiky hair comes into the room, eyes darting from The Winter Soldier’s face to his metal arm and then back.

“We need you in the room,” he tells him. It comes out as an order, so he puts the gun down and exits.

The Winter Soldier walks with ease. His head is held low, hair brushing against his bare face (they took the mask off of him some time ago). His body shifts from side to side, a natural movement when he walks, and he tends to keep his arms bent, ready to block an attack at any moment. His eyes observe everything.

He ignores the people following behind him and the people waiting in front. He stops in the middle of the room, in front of Pierce but not too close, at attention. His handler doesn’t waste time.

“We have an airstrike ready to be sent out on two new targets. If things go as planned then your work will be finished.”

Pierce says his words like they’re supposed to mean something to him, but they don’t, not really.

“You’re on standby,” he says. “They’ll report back to you.”

__________________________________________

“ _Call in the asset._ ”

The Winter Soldier is told that the airstrike on their targets has failed. It’s time. Standing, he heads towards the bars with his mask in hand, his hair hanging like a curtain around the sides of his face. He’s calm, has no reason not to be, and is ready for action. First, however, he needs to report to his handler to get the specifics because it’s _his_ mission now.

He stares at the men on the other side, waiting for them to open the door because he knows they want as little movement from him as possible. He frightens most, if not all of them.

The door pulls open and The Winter Soldier moves forward, as easy as smoke, securing his mask onto his face and disappearing into the shadowy hallway.

His handler’s house is very easy to get into, so he sits and waits in the shadows of the kitchen. He can hear Pierce walking before he sees him enter the spacious, dark area. He doesn’t turn the lights on, just goes straight to the refrigerator and when he turns around to set a carton down, he double-takes. The Winter Soldier does not move; his arm is on the table, eyes fixed on his handler, and for a second he thinks he might see something like fear.

They stare at each other for a moment until the voice of a foreign woman sounds nearby. Pierce startles; The Winter Soldier does not.

“I’m going to go, Mr. Pierce. You need anything before I leave?”

“No… uh, it’s fine, Renata. You can go home,” his handler says with his eyes set on the still figure in the darkness.

The woman is standing near the wall, in the light. Pierce can’t see her, but The Winter Soldier can. She says, “Okay, night-night,” and then she leaves.

“Goodnight,” Pierce calls back, almost as an afterthought.

His handler doesn’t look scared anymore, looks nearly smug instead. “Want some milk?” he asks. The Winter Soldier continues to watch him, not saying a word. He doesn’t _want_ anything – _shouldn’t_ want anything.

Pierce gets a glass, looks at the asset and pours barely enough milk to fill the bottom.

“The time-table has moved.”

The Winter Soldier is listening.

Pierce drinks. “Our window is limited.” He moves around the counter, coming forward. “Two targets, level 6.” The Winter Soldier knows his targets have been causing a lot of trouble; he’s ready for the challenge. His handler continues, “They already cost me Zola. I want a confirmed death in 10 hours.”

“Sir, Mr. Pierce, I – I forgot my… phone.”

The Winter Soldier watches Pierce spin around. The lady can see him, now, and she stares for a moment before glancing towards her boss.

“Oh, Renata,” Pierce says, as if she’s merely spilled something on his carpet. “I wish you would’ve knocked.”

There’s a gun that goes off twice, a scream, flashes of light. The Winter Soldier watches the woman fall, lets his eyes follow her as she hits the floor, bleeding. Dead.

As usual, he feels nothing.

__________________________________________

The Winter Soldier sees his targets. They’re in a car with two other men, one he’s been told is Jasper Sitwell. He pretends to work for SHIELD while working for HYDRA. He means nothing in the long run so it’s best to get him out of the way.

His targets don’t notice him until he’s already on top of their car, fist punching through the window and yanking Sitwell out. He throws the screaming man into oncoming traffic, doesn’t bother looking back. His focus is on the car as he shoots down through the hood.

The driver throws on the breaks, forcing him into the air, onto the road, but he rolls and slides with his metal hand making sparks against the pavement, stopping him in a crouch. There’s a dent that he has to pull his fingers out of before standing, watching as the cars of his allies ram into car of his targets. They’re coming forward, towards him, but he jumps up and twists himself in the air, metal hand gripping onto the hood of the car while his body bounces and smashes the back window. They try to throw him off again; it doesn’t work.

Positioning himself, The Winter Soldier raises his arm and slams down, breaking the wind shield. He grips the steering wheel and pulls it out without even trying. A bullet flies through the hood and he jumps onto an allied vehicle that continues to ram the targets in their pursuit.

It’s easy – and interesting. The car soars into the air, but one of the doors breaks off and the passengers use it to protect themselves. He watches them slide on it, one of the men rolling away as the other two keep moving. The car is a mess of metal and parts, but his targets are on foot.

The Winter Soldier hops off the car, eyes on the targets (a red-headed woman and a blond man; his mind tickles). He’s handed a weapon – a grenade launcher – and he shoots it at the man holding a round shield, the same shield he had caught the night he eliminated his previous target. It doesn’t matter. He watches as the shield blocks the attack, but it flings the man backwards, over the ledge and out of sight.

His allies are shooting at the other two – the red-headed woman and a dark skinned man. She’s one of the targets, but all three will be killed. The Winter Soldier walks forward, watching them move, waiting for a window of opportunity. He shoots a grenade at the woman, but she jumps away, rolls on the ground, over a car, and runs.

His handler told him Level 6.

He shoots again, hitting a car that should smash her, and he sees her fling herself over the ledge. The car explodes. His launcher is loaded, but his allies hold out another weapon. He grabs it, eyes forward, always forward, and holds it up as he stands near the opposite ledge. He scans the area from behind his goggles, preparing to shoot at the overturned bus.

Something hits him, cracks the goggles covering his eye.

He lurches back and down, twists, his back hitting the concrete. The Winter Soldier sits, breathing, and then slowly reaches up, pulling his goggles off. His eyes stare blankly in front of him, his calm being forced away even as he breathes deeply. It’s a moment of pause that feels like one of weakness. He thought he was more prepared than this.

He is now.

The gun is spraying bullets as soon as he’s standing again, turned toward his target. He ducks when she fires this time, will not underestimate her aim, and then pulls back up to spray more bullets, stopping only after she’s a few cars away. He speaks to his allies in Russian, gives them an order – says that the girl is his. She shot him, would’ve hit him in the eye if not for his goggles, and he can’t help the instinct that tells him he wants revenge.

The Winter Soldier hops over the ledge. His feet land on a car that smashes underneath his weight. He steps down and then off of it, moving with intent, eyes unnerving. He keeps up, trailing after where he thinks the woman must’ve gone, and when a police car moves towards him, he blows it up.

His weapon is held up as moves more slowly, almost leisurely, body swaying while he cocks his weapon again. His arms are bent, ready for action. He ignores the fleeing civilians, focuses on a sound he hears in the distance, a voice. With the weapon held readily, his movements slow down, stopping momentarily to glance in the direction of the sound. It’s the woman.

Bending down, The Winter Soldier retrieves an explosive ball from his belt, and rolls it underneath the cars, towards the voice. He stands, trains his gun on the car she’s hiding behind, and waits. There’s an explosion, but she isn’t there. He knows he’s been tricked.

The woman jumps out at him when he starts to turn. She kicks him, wraps her legs around his body until she’s perched on his shoulder, attempting to strangle him with some sort of wire. He stumbles backwards, banging her against a car, and then he flings her forward and into another one. The gun is retrieved and aimed at her, but she tosses something at him – a small disc. It sounds like thunder and electricity and it makes his metal arm a dead weight.  He rips the disc away with his flesh hand, stares, starts to move his fingers into a fist. The metal plates of his arm move together, constricting and whirring when he swiftly rolls his shoulder.

The Winter Soldier stalks forward, in pursuit again. She will not get away.

He sees her running, yelling for people in a breaking voice to _stay out of the way_.

He fires. The bullet shatters a car window and hits her. She falls to her knees, glass in the air, trying to take cover. She put up a fight, moved like someone he thinks he remembers, but she’s done now.

The woman doesn’t see him until he jumps onto a neighboring car, training his gun at her as she stares in shock. The Winter Soldier is ready to eliminate one of his targets, but he sees a blur in the corner of his eye before he’s able to pull the trigger. He sees the blond man running toward him, shield in hand, and when he gets close enough the Soldier forces his fist down hard. It collides with the shield and the man holding it struggles to keep it in place. When he pushes it to the side, forcing the metal fist away, the Soldier kicks the man back with enough force to make him go down, too.

The man is shielding himself when The Winter Soldier shoots, so he drops the gun, rolls off the car and grabs another from his belt. The man continues to block his shots. He jumps forward and kicks him, knocking the gun away, but the Soldier has more, shoots again, and is hit again. His hand clamps down around the shield as the two struggle with each other, punching again and again, and then he flips the blond man until the shield is solely in his own hands. He throws a punch that knocks the man back. The Winter Soldier holds the shield and when the blond man storms forward, he throws it, hard. The projectile is avoided but they both see it cut and stick into the back of a van.

The Soldier pulls a knife out, twirls it while the blond man rushes him. They hit and block at a frantic pace, moving together as if they were nearly the same. But the blond man hits him once, hard enough to spin him, and then he’s kicked in the torso, denting the vehicle he’s thrown back into. He’s dazed enough to where he doesn’t move in time and receives a hard knee to his chest. The body of the Soldier aches and it’s unfamiliar, but he does not stop, he _cannot_ stop.

They start it up again, but the blond man blocks his attack and flings him to the ground. The Soldier uses his enemy to right himself before forcing his fingers around the man’s throat. His arm whirs as his grip tightens, choking until he tosses the man away like he weighs nothing. The Winter Soldier hops up onto the car and then hops back down, jamming his fist into the spot that the blond man’s head rested only a second ago. The pavement cracks like his skull would have.

The Winter Soldier’s heart is starting to race and he might even be sweating. He’s not panicking, but he wasn’t prepared for this… _man._ His level 6 target seems more than that now, more like a weapon, more like himself. He’s never come across anyone as strong; his mind is racing like his heart and he thinks that this blond man might even be _stronger._

They’re trading blows again, but it’s so chaotic and fast that he can’t even think about his actions, he just moves. He hits the man, pulls out another knife, kicks him back and aims to kill. The man blocks him. The metal arm whirs again, his strength forcing the knife forward; it catches in the metal of the vehicle they’re up against. He drags it to the side but they move the same way until the blond man ducks under his arm.

The Winter Soldier can feel a tight grip around his body, feels himself being lifted off his feet and thrown backwards, into the ground with enough force that he can feel his bones tremble. The man retrieves his shield before he can get up, but the Soldier is angry, feels almost desperate, needs to finish his mission, and nothing is going to stop him.

He’s trying, so hard; he’s punching, dodging, trying to move and twist enough to catch the man off guard, to slip into an uncovered area. His knife is blocked each time and though he gets a couple of hits in, his hard attacks are blocked by that brightly colored shield. His elbow rams against the circular object but now the man has his arm, uses it to hold him still, slams the edge of the shield against his head and the Soldier grits his teeth. He’s hit, disoriented by the movements, and then a hand grips his face – his jaw – and flips him, throwing him through the air. He twists and rolls on the ground, forcing himself back onto his feet. But his mask is off now and it makes him pause, just for a moment, needing to breathe before he faces the waiting target.

When The Winter Soldier turns his head, a defiant expression on his face, the man stands from his defensive position to look at him in awe. His chest is heaving when he questions breathlessly, “ _Bucky_?”

The blond man thinks he knows him, the Soldier; he calls him Bucky in a questioning voice. The Winter Soldier responds immediately.

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

He says it, doesn’t know why. It doesn’t feel right on his tongue but it didn’t sound wrong to his ears.

He doesn’t think about it when he aims his gun again, barely finishing his question. But feet collide with him, knocking into him hard, forcing him down. He gets up almost as immediately as before, less gracefully this time, and he stares at the blond man who called him Bucky.

The Winter Soldier’s mind races faster than the time that’s passing. His expression is contorted with a mix of feelings that he can’t identify, but something in the darkest corner of his mind (and his mind is pretty dark, overall) makes him pause. He breathes out, heavy, and his hateful eyes become a little wider when the voices in his head get louder. He looks away just for a split second and instead of seeing the car-filled street surrounding him, he sees blond hair and a smile.

The blond man in front of him is not smiling.

Images force themselves into his vision and he thinks, for one second, with his heart pounding in his ears, that he sees himself – not the reflection in the icy window, but in a mirror, white foam covering his laughing face. He hears the word again, the name – _Bucky_ – and it’s loud, being shouted in the same voice that he heard a moment ago, in the same voice that he’s thinks he remembers hearing when he’s strapped onto the chair. It’s fleeting and everything happens so fast that he can’t control himself.

The Winter Soldier’s frenzied eyes dart back to the blond man, his lips pressing together, strands of hair hanging in front of his face. The gun is raised and aimed and he’s going to shoot –

The woman pulls a trigger first. He sees the blond man duck, shield overheard, before he drops down, too. There’s an explosion behind him.

The Winter Soldier flees, leaving only smoke in his place.


	2. hope you find out what you are, already know what i am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His clothes are stiff from the water and his other arm needs some maintenance, but he has no tools. He has barely any weapons. The Winter Soldier does not want to report back to his handlers, but he feels as though he must.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm wasted, losing time  
> on a foolish, fragile spine  
> I want all that is not mine  
> I want him but we're not right  
> In the darkness, I will meet my creators  
> and they will all agree  
> that I'm a suffocator"

The Winter Soldier doesn’t know when he makes it back to base or how he gets there. His mind has just… shut down. He can’t think, can’t focus, can hear nothing but a screech in his ears.

He’s leaned back in the chair, bruised, but so far out of his thoughts that he can barely register the people working on his arm. His eyes stare blankly into the distance, but he can see so many things flashing through his awareness.

Everything is white, so blindingly white. Snow falls everywhere – clouding the face of a man wearing round glasses.

_Sergeant Barnes…_

The name echoes, makes him turn his head to the side; the hair that had been tucked behind his ear falls against his face again.

There’s a train. He had asked about a train once, hadn’t he? He can’t remember. He can’t… There’s a train and there’s a man – a blond man – and he shouts.

_Bucky! No!_

He sees the man in his mind like he’s looking up at him, watches an arm flail out. There’s a yell, a terrible scream, and there are mountains buried with white everywhere, all around, spinning down, down, down.

Upside down – a man in brown; things move, like sliding, and then he sees another man, watching. He can see a blue covered chest, a body being dragged in the snow – _snow, snow everywhere, winter_ – and then… there’s blood, a trail of red on white, and a stump. No forearm.

_The procedure has already started…_

That voice again, foreign and filled with twisted delight. He sees so much but not enough. There are hands with black gloves and metal tools. A sound of a drill –

The Winter Soldier is breathing heavy, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty face. His eyes are wide, but they do not see anything outside of the rush of images inside his head. He can’t – he doesn’t _want_ –

_You are to be the new fist of HYDRA…_

There are men in coats and bright lights blinding him, but there are hands in his focus; one flesh, one metal. They’re held up, open, and then they are clenched and reaching out in anger, choking. He sees a needle and then the smiling man again, speaking to him. He won’t go away.

_Put him on ice._

He’s trapped in a coffin – no, his chamber. He can see out the little window, can see the people watching him, and can see himself in the reflection. It’s cold, so cold, and ice bites his skin, making him arch but he can’t move. The metal hand reaches out, tries to touch, but it’s too late.

The Winter Soldier moves suddenly, fast and strong. He whips his arm to the side, throwing away the man working on him. Some run while others step forward, guns trained on him, but all he can do is heave, arms flexed and ready for a fight.

They call his handler.

He doesn’t do anything but stare into the distance when he hears a man call him ‘unstable’ and ‘erratic.’ He knows his handler is there, but he doesn’t see him, can barely even hear him when he asks for a mission report.

His handler repeats himself to the man with a dead stare. “Mission report, _now_ ,” he demands.

The Winter Soldier does not answer, doesn’t acknowledge him.

His head is forced to the side by a backhanded slap from Pierce. The Winter Soldier does not feel it. Instead, the sting is caused by his thoughts and – and _emotions_.

His head turns back, the haze spreading away just enough to hear his whispering thought. The Soldier’s face scrunches; he blinks and then blinks again, eyebrows furrowed. He’s so confused, but…

“That man on the bridge…” he says quietly, turning his head so he can see his handler. He sees the face of the blond man instead, briefly; can see him mouth the questioned name. _Bucky?_ His eyes are downcast for a moment, but he blinks them back up again. “Who was he?”

Pierce watches him, almost doesn’t want to answer, but he does. “You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

 _No…_ The Winter Soldier hears whispered in his head. He drops his eyes down again, considering, trying to understand. And then – he’s seen him before, and not just before the bridge. _Before._

“I knew him.”

He can barely get the words out. He thinks he remembers and his eyes move to the side, up, chasing the images that won’t go away.

Pierce sits down in front of him and The Winter Soldier watches, hunching in on himself. He wants to understand. He _wants_ to _know_.

“Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century.”

 _No…_ the Soldier hears again, but he’s listening, face morphed with conflicting emotions. This isn’t what he wants to know.

“And we need you to do it one more time,” his handler continues.

The Winter Soldier blinks, blinks like it’s a sigh, like he knows the mission, _remembers_ the mission, but can’t get past the niggling thoughts clouding his brain. The – the _memories_ , maybe?

“Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning, we’re gonna give it a push. But… if you don’t do your part,” his handler says, “I can’t do mine.”

The Winter Soldier feels something. He thinks maybe it feels like guilt, like maybe he’s wrong for wanting to know things when he’s failed a mission. He has to try again, has to _do his part_ – has to, doesn’t want to.

“And HYDRA can’t give the world the freedom it deserves.”

He doesn’t know if it’s true. He doesn’t know anything anymore, does he? There are too many questions and too many missions and too many things that he suddenly feels. He can’t go on. The Winter Soldier has to know why he _knows_ ; why he sees trains and the same blond man, over and over. Why he hears Sergeant Barnes, why he hears Bucky. _Who the hell is Bucky?_ Why do these names feel like they mean anything to him?

He looks at his handler with his head tilted, his face sad and set.

“But I knew him.”

The Winter Soldier looks like a child. His eyes are full of fresh pain, his lips twisted into a sad imitation of a smile. The crease between his brows, the set of his jaw – his handler knows. He sighs and stands.

“Prep him.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyebrows rise at the words, panic creeping through his bones.

 _Please…don’t…_ it’s a whisper in his mind so quiet that he doesn’t even understand it.

“He’s been out of cryofreeze for too long…” a man says hesitantly. They’ve never seen the weapon look human, never seen anyone look so sad and helpless and hopeless.

“Then wipe him, and start over.”

He hears the words, knows what comes next, but for once he isn’t ready. The only pain he feels is one of loss, because he’s trying to remember something true but can’t and it’s going to be taken away from him.

People step closer and push him back into the chair. Others are watching him like he’s some sort of animal. With tears in his eyes and his breathing uneven, The Winter Soldier stares into empty space, ignoring the screams in his ears along with the thoughts and feelings that make him want to cry because he hurts so badly now. He licks his lips, accepts the mouth guard with resentment and anger, tries not to show his fear.

The machine grips him quickly, forces his head back and does not allow him to move his arms. The only reason why he isn’t crying is because he can’t breathe. He clenches his fists but it does nothing to help him and his chest heaves faster. The machine makes noises, the headpiece descending, and he allows his eyes to close in a moment of weakness.

His face twitches, flashes with fear, but the machine is already around his head and he screams. It isn’t the only thing that hurts, not when he sees images of the blond man in his mind, not when he hears a voice but can’t make out the words. He sees these things. They move so rapidly that he can’t understand them… Maybe he sees some sort of ride, hears something about someone puking. Maybe he sees a flying car and a scrawny kid. Maybe he sees –

Maybe he doesn’t.

He can hear himself screaming, over and over again, voice hoarse and breaking; can feel himself shaking, chest pushing in and out, muscles clenching. But everything is black in his mind.

The only thing that hurts is the machine around his head.

He thinks, _why this time?_

__________________________________________

The first thing he’s told is that he’s failed to kill his targets and that he must finish what was started before they cause more problems. HYDRA is about to give the world the freedom it deserves. The Winter Soldier must assure that nothing stands in their way.

He remembers not being able to kill the man and the woman on the bridge, but doesn’t know why he was unable to. It makes him angry. The Winter Soldier will succeed this time.

__________________________________________

His targets are a red-headed woman (he remembers her shooting at him, trying to choke him) and a blond man (he remembers that this man has a shield and is strong and hard to beat), but there is a third man causing problems and he remembers him, too. He has wings now.

The woman is nowhere in sight, but the two men are attacking the INSIGHT carriers.

“All SHIELD pilots scramble! We are the only air support Captain Rogers has got!”

The Winter Soldier launches a grenade at one of the aircrafts, watches it go down as the people run and fall. He walks through the smoke and flames, firing another. People go down. Some try to fight, but they have no chance. He shoots them, running to grab a dropped live grenade, throwing it into another aircraft. It explodes with the people inside.

He’s being shot at, but the Soldier blocks the bullets with his metal arm. He moves swiftly, angry, throws a hard punch and a forceful kick that throws a man back into a propeller. He jumps atop of an aircraft and shoots the person inside, rips the door off and gets in. He’s airborne and focused.

The Winter Soldier waits, hiding, and hears the two men approach. The winged man and the blond man (he’s wearing a helmet, is a Captain) speak to each other in casual tones, as if they aren’t in battle. The Soldier charges into the Captain hard enough to throw him off and the winged man tries to take flight, tries to save him. The Winter Soldier grips one of the wings with his metal hand and throws the man backwards. Bullets fly but never hit as he flips away from them to take cover. The winged man tries again to fly to the Captain but the Soldier will not let him. He shoots a hook at him instead, yanks him to the ground and then pulls the wing clean off. The man stands – a mistake. The Winter Soldier lands a kick to his chest that sends him plummeting down through the air.

Peering over the edge, the Soldier sees the Captain pull himself back up onto the carrier. He turns, silently following.

The Winter Soldier is waiting on the catwalk when the Captain appears. The man slows to a stop some feet away. They watch each other.

“People are gonna die, Buck,” the Captain says. “I can’t let that happen.”

The Winter Soldier stares at him, unfeeling.

Almost desperately, the Captain breathes, “Please don’t make me do this,” as if the Soldier had a choice; as if he’d choose a different path if he could.

The Winter Soldier’s stare makes the Captain set his jaw. The look in his eyes, a challenge, makes the Captain angry, too. He throws his round shield but the Soldier deflects it easily with his metal arm. His answering shot is blocked.

The Captain uses his shield offensively and defensively. He blocks the Soldier’s shots and then tries to hit him. They move around each other, nearly in sync, twisting and turning together. The Soldier bends down and shoots and a bullet hit’s the Captain’s side. The shield’s slam makes him fly backwards.

He’s got a knife now and the Captain still has his shield. He punches and kicks, but the other man continues to block him. Sometimes the Soldier will get a hit in but then he gets one right back, knocking him off balance. He sees the Captain trying to do something to the INSIGHT carrier, trying to stop HYDRA’s plans, his mission. He goes after him, not letting up. He hits and kicks and tries to stab, constricts his metal arm, but the Captain is fierce.

They both are on different missions and neither of them can afford to fail.

He sees the Captain pull a chip out. The Soldier attacks, tries to move away from the shield. They hit each other at the same time. Angry, The Winter Soldier lets out a yell and jumps at the Captain, forcing them both over the railing. The shield is gone for now.

They run at each other and fight up close, gripping shoulders and arms in between their brawling hits. They trade blow for blow until the Soldier knocks the Captain away, makes him slide down the slope of the platform. The Soldier drops down and slides after him, makes it onto his feet when the Captain does. He twists the man’s arms, forces him to drop the chip. The Captain punches him, makes him feel dazed. He kicks the Soldier off the ledge and jumps right down after him – no, after the chip.

The Winter Soldier sees him running, so he grabs the dropped shield and hurls it forward, hitting the man straight in the back. He gets ahold of it before the Soldier can shoot, though, and the repetition of this fight makes him even angrier, maybe even desperate. He starts forward, pausing to swat the shield out of the air before rushing again. He pulls another knife, tries to cut, to stab. The Captain grabs his arm, but the strength of the metal is too much and the Soldier plunges it into his target’s shoulder. The man screams before he smacks their heads together. The Soldier drops down and attempts to crawl towards the chip that the Captain desperately wants. He grabs it and, in turn, the Captain grabs him. He holds him up by the throat, makes The Winter Soldier yell before he slams him into the ground. He can’t escape the hands that force his head down and pull his arm back.

“Drop it!” the Captain barks out. The Winter Soldier is beginning to feel the pain. He tries to reach across with his metal arm but can’t. “Drop it!” the Captain yells again. He doesn’t.

His arm is snapped and he yells again, the sound loud and pained, echoing through the air. The Soldier grits his teeth and still does not let go. The Captain doesn’t, either, and he finds himself moved, his back against his target’s chest, a tight arm around his throat. The Soldier tries to escape. He can’t move his flesh arm and the metal arm is useless now, pinned under his target’s leg. He licks his lips, tries to breathe, but he can’t and he’s trapped, and then there’s nothing.

When he comes to, he sees his target climbing back up onto the platform. The Winter Soldier pulls a gun and shoots his target in the leg, watches him fall, but this _man_ does not stay down. He sees him trying to climb higher and shoots again, hits. The Captain keeps going. The Soldier is wobbly, injured and frenzied, but he shoots, one more time, and the Captain falls.

(He doesn’t know why he can’t aim for the head or the broad back.)

But then – the Captain has succeeded in his mission. The helicarriers are shooting, blowing each other apart, and the Soldier cannot fail again. His mission –

The place is collapsing and the Soldier is hit, screams when he’s pinned and cannot save himself. ‘We need you to do it one more time,’ his handler had said; the Soldier is going to die a failure. It scares him more than he thought it would.

The Winter Soldier, with anguish painted on his face, weakly struggling, sees the Captain crawling toward him, falling over himself as he does. He starts to panic, doesn’t know what to do. He sees the Captain stand up again, forced down by the shaking caused by the blasts in the structure, but he just won’t quit, won’t back down.

The Captain tries so hard to lift the metal that’s trapping the Soldier. He doesn’t understand, but he keeps going, does not give up. The Captain doesn’t let go until the Soldier’s pulled himself out from under the wreckage. It’s bizarre. It’s not right.

He’s on his hands and knees and he’s trying to breathe, but he looks to the side to watch the Captain.

“You know me,” his target breathes out, standing, and it twists something in the Soldier’s brain, makes his chest feel raw.

 _But I knew him…_ rings in his ears, but, no – he never said that.

He stands. Yells, “No I don’t!” and lashes out at his target.

 _He’s unstable, erratic._ He’s never been more-so.

The Captain and the Soldier are both heaving and can barely stand, but the man still tries, says softly, “Bucky…” like that damn name means anything. The Winter Soldier is so confused. It feels like his mind is crumbling as quickly as the helicarrier they’re standing on.

 _WHO THE HELL IS BUCKY_ , his mind screams, but it’s drowned out by the Captain’s voice.

“You’ve known me your whole life…”

The words hurt – hurt his brain, hurt his chest (his heart? Does he have one?). He can’t feel the exasperation on his face, but he can feel his metal hand smacking against flesh, so he lashes out again, nearly growling. The Captain falls over, but so does the Soldier.

His body feels numb but he’s in so much pain and it shows all over his face. The Captain’s voice is so loud in his head.

“Your name is _James Buchannan Barnes_.”

No, no, no; it’s all wrong.

“SHUT UP!” he screams, hitting the Captain again.

The Winter Soldier cannot understand, doesn’t want to, but the images in his mind are there – have come back from wherever they went before, making him remember – and it hurts.

They’re both down. He feels like he can’t take anymore, but the target gets up and so he does, too. He watches the other man tear his helmet off, stumbling. The Captain is the blond man, he knew that already, but it’s different now. He sees him for a second, he thinks – but he can’t understand.

“I’m not gonna fight you.” The blond man drops his shield, lets it fall down far below them, and doesn’t even care. He sounds so tired and so done. He’s giving up. The Winter Soldier can finish his mission, he can –! “You’re my friend.”

There’s too much in his head and he wants it gone, wants it all gone. He’ll take the ice over the fire in his body any day, just please, _please._

But he’s so angry and it’s his mission, and he feels so antagonized by the blond man who will no longer fight him.

He cries out when he runs. He tackles the man to the ground, hard, hovers above him and looks at the broken face.

“You’re my mission.”

He strikes the man, horrible blows made to kill. One, two, three, four –

“ _YOU’RE. MY. MISSION.”_ He grunts each time, and the blond man does nothing, just lets him. Five, six… he tries to breathe, tries to keep going for _the mission_ , but he pauses with his fist in the air, useless flesh hand curled against the star-covered chest under him, and he hears the broken man speak.

“Then finish it…”

The Winter Soldier stares down at the blond man with wild sights, like an animal, fist raised for the kill. But he doesn’t do it yet, just stares into the open blue eyes below him.

“Cause I’m with you till… the end of the line.”

The Winter Soldier feels something in him snap. His world is collapsing, inside of him and all around, but his eyes are stinging and he _feels_ the words cutting through his skin, shocking him worse than any machine could. His arm has dropped on its own, as if in horror, and his mind is so silent and so loud all at once. The face of the blond man is –

_Steve?_

It’s a fleeting thought, a whisper of a name he doesn’t know, but it’s there and it makes him feel heavy.

The blond man is falling.

The Winter Soldier fell once, he thinks.

He grips something above him and watches the man drop through the air. It feels so slow and, for a moment, it even feels like peace.

The blond man goes under the water.

The Winter Soldier lets go of the metal.

The Soldier sees the injured man amongst pieces of debris, unmoving, drowning. It goes against his mission, but it’s so easy to reach his hand out and swim to the surface, so he does – to _save_ instead of _kill_. The Soldier drags the man to shore by the strap of his uniform, watches him carefully. He feels different, subdued by his change of actions.

The Winter Soldier waits for the blond man to breathe and when he does, it feels like relief.

He looks around as he turns, scoping the area; it’s silent and empty, but he knows the Captain’s allies will find him, so he turns his back and starts slowly away.

_Your name is James Buchanan Barnes…_

__________________________________________

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he left the blond man on the shore, just knows that it’s gotten dark a few times. He stays out of the crowded streets, away from the wreckage and the water, but he doesn’t leave DC. He’s not really sure why, or if he’s waiting for something; a fight, maybe. It’s just in him not to stray too far from his mission.

But he no longer has a mission. He aborted it.

People are loud, especially in the wake of disaster, and he hears what they say when he’s crouched in the shadows.

“SHIELD is full of terrorists!”

“The world’s gone to shit!”

“Something needs to be done about this! So-called Avenger or not, how could they let that Russian spy go free?”

“Where’s Captain America?”

He hears so much and it’s tiring. He can’t ever remember being out of cryostasis for so long… he’s not sure if he should be scared or relieved.

He can’t remember a lot of things, he knows, but it’s more than ever before. Thoughts creep up on him and he can’t force them away. Sometimes he feels like he can’t breathe or that he’s breathing too much; sometimes he feels like he’s frozen, other times like he’s burning. He’ll be relatively okay one moment, functioning, looking for a place to lay low, but then the next he’s so lost and confused and he feels like he’s suddenly two people. He’s The Winter Soldier, the asset. Who the hell is James Buchanan Barnes?

He’s hungry and tired and still injured – the list goes on. He’s tried to reset the broken bones in his arm, found a ripped t-shirt in a dumpster that he turned into a sling. He heals quickly so he shouldn’t need it for long anyway.

His clothes are stiff from the water and his other arm needs some maintenance, but he has no tools. He has barely any weapons. The Winter Soldier does not want to report back to his handlers, but he feels as though he must.

He goes to the building they kept him in, but there aren’t any guards. When he gets to the room with the green walls, he sees a couple of doctors trying to move equipment. HYDRA has been compromised, but they’ve not been defeated. He doesn’t know how this makes him feel, if it even _should_ make him feel.

He kills the doctors without a second thought, without remorse or true anger, and looks around. His chair is in the same place it was last time, as is the cryo-chamber, but monitors are blank and the few paper files they kept have disappeared. It doesn’t matter much to him; he’s come for weapons, not files. The Soldier goes to leave the barred room, but pauses at the last minute, looks behind through his curtain of straggly hair. The equipment – _his_ chair – stares at him and a swell of emotion rises up into his chest. He’s tearing the damn thing out of the ground and punching it to pieces with his metal fist before he even knows what he’s doing. He throws parts of it at the chamber as an afterthought, cracking the round window on the outside.

He tries to repair his arm the best he can before raiding the weapon’s room.

__________________________________________

The Soldier is hungry and tired, but he doesn’t eat or sleep. He doesn’t know what to do next so he doesn’t do anything, stays in the dark and waits. He can hear a television through an open window talking about Captain America’s release from the hospital. He hears about SHIELD going under and he hears about Natasha Romanoff, sees that it’s the red-headed woman when he peeks in through the window. The occupant of the apartment is a large male and he’s asleep. The Winter Soldier slips in without making a sound.

He hears more about Captain America – Captain Rogers, the blond man. The people on the television have questions about Captain America that apparently no one can answer. While he vaguely listens, the Soldier scouts the house, moving into a bedroom and pulling clothes out of the closet. He grabs a black t-shirt and a checkered button-up, as well as a jacket and some pants. There’s a cap on the dresser that he nabs on his way out of the room. The man is still asleep and the television is flashing images of Captain Rogers; the Soldier grabs a bag of bread from the counter and slips back out the window. The sleeping man snores.

The Soldier eats the whole loaf of bread in a dark alleyway while the sun rises. Then he pushes his hair out of his face and secures the cap onto his head, pulling the bill down to cover his eyes. With his hand tucked away into the jacket’s pocket, he slips into the crowd, unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smother // daughter
> 
> and so it really begins


	3. and if it makes you less sad, we'll start talking again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you wanna know about Bucky Barnes, you should ask Captain America,” she says as she gets up to leave. “They were best friends.”
> 
> He doesn’t breathe until she’s disappeared and when he does, it’s shaky. 
> 
> Then he hits the red X in the corner of the screen, stands, and abandons the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hide the sun; I will leave your face out of my mind  
> You should save your eyes  
> a thousand voices howling in my head  
> Speak in tongues; I don't even recognize your face  
> Mirror on the wall, tell me all the ways to stay away"

The Winter Soldier sees a sign in front of a large building that seems to be attracting a crowd. The Sign has a picture of the Captain and it promises an exhibit fully dedicated to him and the Howling Commandos. He slips inside.

More signs lead him to a very crowded area. The walls are covered in photos of Captain America and there are paragraphs all about his life. There’s a recording, too.

“A symbol to the Nation, a hero to the world… The Story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery, and sacrifice….”

“Denied enlistment due to poor health, Steven Rogers was chosen for a program unique in the annals of American warfare – one that would transform him into the world’s first super-soldier…”

The Winter Soldier moves through the exhibit, glancing at the videos of the Captain he fought, watching as if expecting him to jump right out of the footage. He saw all the information, read it over and over again, and it seemed strange and familiar at the same time.

_Steve?_

“Battle-tested, Captain America and his Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes. Their mission: taking down HYDRA, the Nazi rogue science division…”

There was a mural so large that you’d have to be blind to miss it. There were mannequins in front of the mural, too, dressed to match the men in the painting. The Captain was right in the middle, several men on either side, and then, right next to him… there was a face he knew, a face he saw as a reflection.

He nearly stumbled when he turned, his eyes landing on another nearby image. The Soldier moved to stand in front of it, staring with confusion. The photo matched the man on the mural – matched _him_. It was his face. There was a name, one that the Captain – _Steve_ – had called him several times. There were dates.

**Bucky Barnes**

**1917-1944**

It was the face of a dead man, but it was unmistakably his.

He stares blankly although he feels so much inside now; he breathes in deeply, his jaw tightening, trying to steel himself.

“Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.”

There’s a ringing in his ears and he feels like he might throw up. The Winter Soldier is _not_ The Winter Soldier, but he is. The Winter Soldier is _not_ Bucky Barnes, but… he _is_ , isn’t he? It says so, right in front of him. The Captain – Steve ( _Steve, Steve, Steve_ , it’s like a mantra in his head) wasn’t lying, though now he wishes he had been.

The Soldier sees the footage, sees him next to The Captain, always. Sees them standing close, smiling and laughing, looking like they’re the suns of each other’s worlds. It takes more strength than The Winter Soldier thought he had not to smash his fist through the wall.

He breathes in deeply. He’s so confused, doesn’t understand it, but it’s all right there. Maybe he just doesn’t believe it. Maybe he can’t.

But he _wants_ to.

It’s too much. The Winter Soldier leaves and doesn’t glance back at Bucky Barnes, not once.

__________________________________________

He doesn’t go back to the museum, doesn’t need to; has already seen enough of what they had on display.  He does wonder, though… can’t help it. He goes back to the bank, back to the room with the green walls and the smashed equipment and the rotting bodies, and sits in the corner. He stares at the bars with his knees to his chest, his cap in hand so that his greasy hair falls flat against his face.

He tries to breathe when his thoughts get too chaotic. There are too many voices in his head now (the man with the glasses, Steve, himself or another version – an older one). It’s hard to keep it all bottled in, makes him tired just trying to.

He lets his legs slide out until his calves touch the floor, dropping his eyes down to his muddy boots. He stares for a long time and tries hard not to think about anything. He blacks out for a while.

He doesn’t remember ever doing that, but then again how could he know for sure? Maybe HYDRA took that from him, too. He can’t even begin to understand what, _who_ , he is and what he’s supposed to do now.

He glances at the scattered pieces of the machine and part of him wishes he could fry all his thoughts away.

__________________________________________

There’s a team of HYDRA agents that come back to check the building. They weren’t expecting to see The Winter Soldier sitting in the corner, staring blankly at the wall, but they recover quickly and point their weapons at him. One speaks to him, tells him to stand up slowly. He does. Then they tell him do drop all of his weapons.

He lets go of the duffel and then a lets one of his pistols follow. He does the same with another two guns and three knives, slowly, obediently, and reaches into the back of his belt to drop the next weapon.

He throws it at them instead.

He jumps away as it explodes, hears the screams before the deafening boom. He can’t hear for a few minutes after, but he can see just fine. There’s a bleeding man crawling through the smoke. The Soldier grabs a gun from the pile and shoots without even thinking. The man doesn’t move again.

The Winter Soldier leaves the building and doesn’t come back.

__________________________________________

He doesn’t go back to the museum so he tries the library instead. His eyes dart around the place, taking everything in as he keeps his head down, moving to the area with the computers. There’s only one other person there, a little girl, maybe around 10. He takes a seat in the same row as her, so she can’t see his face, but he can feel her staring anyway. He keeps his metal hand in his pocket.

He stares at the screen for a moment, trying to gauge how to work it. He’s never used a computer but he’s seen others use them extensively. He sees an icon that has the word ‘internet’, so he clicks it. Nothing happens so he clicks it a few more times until a window pops up. With one hand, he begins to type into the bar at the top: _james buchanan barnes 1917-1944._ It takes him a second before he hits the button that says ‘enter’, which makes the page load a bunch of different links. He’s so focused on all of the words on the page that he doesn’t even notice the girl had moved to sit beside him. He tenses when she speaks, grits his teeth so as not to lash out on instinct.

“You should try the museum,” she says in a too-loud whisper.

He darts his eyes to her for a second, sees her little smile. He swallows.

“I did.” His voice is scratchy and low.

“I did a report on him once,” she says this time. Her words make him furrow his eyebrows and turn his head. He sees her lips part a little as she stares at his face and he yells Russian obscenities inside his head. “Hey –”

“Go away,” he snaps at her, trying his best to keep his voice low, to stay unnoticed by everyone else.

She doesn’t leave.

“Were you frozen like Captain America?” she asks, even quieter this time. Children have a way of believing thing adults don’t. “The exhibit said you died but people thought Captain America died, too, so…”

The Soldier doesn’t answer her, keeps his eyes focused on the screen instead, unsure of what to click on first.

“If you wanna know about Bucky Barnes, you should ask Captain America,” she says as she gets up to leave. “They were best friends.”

He doesn’t breathe until she’s disappeared and when he does, it’s shaky.

Then he hits the red X in the corner of the screen, stands, and abandons the library.

__________________________________________

It’s a stupid idea that some child had mentioned, but now he can’t stop thinking about it.

_Ask Captain America._

His target. His mission.

_Bucky_. The blond man – Steve had called him Bucky, wouldn’t fight him. He said they were friends. He said…

The Soldier waits until night to sneak into a small corner store. He rips the surveillance camera off the wall and disarms the simple alarm before breaking open the cash register. He doesn’t take all the money; it doesn’t feel right when he tries. But he does grab a plastic bag and fills it with various foods and bottled water. He sees some t-shirts tucked away in the very corner (they say Washington DC on them) and grabs a couple of those, too.

He heads to the nearest motel.

The person at the desk looks at him strangely but doesn’t refuse his cash. The Soldier gets a key and heads quietly up the stairs and into his room. It’s small, clean looking, and it makes him feel claustrophobic. Setting his full bag onto the bed, he yanks his hat and jacket off. His other two shirts go next, and then his pants and socks and underwear after he kicks off his shoes.

Naked, he goes into the tiny bathroom and gets under the cold water of the shower head. It feels like ice. He doesn’t try to make it warmer.

His body feels better when he’s cleaned, something he’s never thought about before. Or probably has but can’t remember it.

The Soldier thinks about all of the things he knows he’s forgotten and all of things he _might_ have forgotten. He thinks of trains and snow and blood; He thinks of alleyways and blond hair and laughter. He thinks of torture and pain, done to him and caused by him; He thinks of couch cushions and sketchpads and medicine.  He thinks of war, of destruction, and he thinks of life. He thinks of what he can’t remember and what he doesn’t want to forget, and he thinks he can feel himself shaking, can feel warm tears on his cheeks even with the cold water running down his back.

He falls – off the train, off the helicarrier. He falls in the shower.

He doesn’t wake up for a long time.

__________________________________________

He feels numb when his eyes open. He’s pressed awkwardly against the wall of the shower, the water still on and spraying half of his body. If he were fully human he’d surely be sick, but he’s not. He doesn’t know what he is. Not yet.

His mind doesn’t feel so chaotic, now that he’s rested. It’s strange; he feels – just feels, and it’s still overwhelming but he can breathe a little easier now. He braces his hands against the wall and stands himself up onto stiff legs. The water gets shut off by his elbow before he steps out of the shower, his body and hair dripping as he walks. He stands in the room for a moment, just staring at the bright sky through the window.

The Soldier decides he will follow the Captain, but will not engage.

The man (maybe Bucky, his thoughts whisper) thinks _we’ll see_.

__________________________________________

He puts his clothes back on, swapping the black tee for the white one he took from the corner store, shoves the hat back onto his head and grabs his second bottle of water. The rest of the food and the duffel of weapons go into the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom.

On the street, he thinks of his new mission. He needs to find the Captain, keep his distance. The Soldier doesn’t know where to start.

He heads to the museum so he can walk around the block, scope out anyone who enters and exits for at least an hour. Nothing of importance is seen so he moves on. He walks for a long time, weaving in and out of crowds with his metal hand tucked away. The destruction at the Potomac is still being cleared out, so he passes by without a second glance.

The news is on inside of another corner store. He stops in to listen, watching the screen intently. The people talk about HYDRA and SHIELD. They have questions about Nick Fury and if he’s really dead (he isn’t, he’s just another target The Winter Soldier failed to kill, but there’s no anger in that thought now). They have questions about where Captain America has gone.

He wonders the same thing.

It’s dark again when the Soldier reaches his next location. He stands across the street and stares at the building.

He’s inside the apartment of Steve Rogers within 5 minutes. The bullet holes are still in the wall, but there isn’t any blood on the floor.

The place is clean and orderly, barely looking lived in, but some of the tables have scattered contents across them, like the occupant left in a hurry. The Soldier sees a record player… he sees a sketchpad, too, and another notebook next to it. He moves quietly over to it, placing the needle gently on top of the record. It feels like maybe he’s done this before, thinks that Bucky probably has.

Music crackles in. He hears a lot of trumpet noise, but doesn’t mind the sound. It seems vaguely familiar, though he can’t decipher if he knows it or just the era it’s from.

He stands there, just listening for around a minute and a half.

“ _Never thought that you would be standing here so close to me, there’s so much I feel that I should say, but words can wait until some other day…_ ”

He pulls the needle off after a beat, not wanting to alert anyone else in the building, and picks up the sketchpad instead. There are only a few drawings inside, most of them depicting nature. One’s a rough sketch of a tall building with a large “A” logo up at the top. Leafing through the sparse book, he sees an unfinished drawing at the back. It’s him – old him, like the photos from the museum. He has short hair, dog-tags around his neck, and there’s a smirk on his lips. There are no eyes.

He lets the book slide off his fingers and back onto the table, the other notebook taking its place in his hands. It’s filled with different names; of places – like restaurants, the library – and of people. There’s a phone number next to the name Stark. It sounds familiar. He doesn’t think about it too hard.

He sees another name – Sam – and there’s a number there, too. He rips it out of the book and leaves, not bothering to check the rest of the rooms.

When he’s at a payphone with the number punched in, a person answers, announcing that he’s called the Washington DC VA. He asks if they know a Sam. The person asks if he’s talking about an employee. The Soldier doesn’t know but says _yes_ anyway. They tell him they have a Sam Wilson but that he’s gone on vacation. The Soldier hangs up.

He goes to the library again the next day and is relieved to see the computer area empty. He gets onto the internet and types in “sam wilson washington dc va” and hits enter. He clicks the ‘images’ link. There are a few pictures of a dark skinned man smiling with other people. The Soldier recognizes him as one of the men on the bridge and the man with the wings.

He’s at a loss for what to do, doesn’t know what his next step should be. He’s lying on the bed instead of the shower floor this time but sleep doesn’t come easy. It doesn’t come at all, for a while.

He hears trumpets and a woman’s voice.

_Never thought that you would be standing here so close to me, there’s so much I feel that I should say…_

__________________________________________

The Soldier wakes up screaming. It’s a garbled sound that gets cut off when he realizes what he’s doing.

He can’t remember his nightmare, can only remember that it was about the man in the glasses. It makes him angry.

His hands claw the clothes off of his body and he pulls the old ones out from under the bed, forcing himself back into the black uniform. The cap is forgotten on the floor, hair curtaining around his face, and he checks to make sure he’s got his weapons.

The Winter Soldier sneaks out the window instead of out the door.

There’s a shopping center that he gets to as the sun rises, several parked cars already in the lot. There’s a black truck near a tree that he hotwires and takes off in. He doesn’t like how slow the drive is but he tolerates it, keeps his anger just underneath his skin. There are HYDRA bases all over the world, several of which were safe houses for him, and though he can’t remember them all he knows suddenly of one in Massachusetts. 

The car goes for 4 hours before the tank gets low enough to need gas. The Soldier abandons the car on the side of a quiet road and walks. It takes 2 more hours before he finds a car that he can take without any casualties, but he keeps on walking, deciding that one more hour on foot is nothing to him.

There’s a sign that tells him he’s in the right town (if his memory can be trusted at all) and he tucks himself away from the eyes of the people, finding the abandoned factory without much difficulty. He doesn’t move until the sky is dark again.

The Winter Soldier creeps into the factory through a vent outside, army crawling until he can get far enough to see through the grate at the other end. There are two people inside of a small room, blocking a set of double doors. They speak German to each other. They talk about SHIELD’s fall and Pierce’s death. The Winter Soldier hadn’t known his handler had died. He feels a pang of anger that he didn’t get to snap the man’s neck.

The men speak quietly about the Soldier, too. They wonder if he died on the helicarriers or got away. One of the men seems to think that they’ll recapture the asset easily.

The Soldier can feel his lips twisting into a dark smirk.

The metal hand punches the grate out of the wall. He forces himself out, tucking into a roll and landing onto his feet. The men yell and start shooting, but he twirls away from the gunfire, using a crate to launch himself up to the metal pipes overheard. He swings himself down, kicking one of the men in the face, crunching a nose under the sole of his boot, and then he’s throwing a knife at the other man. It hits him square in the chest.

An alarm sounds through the factory but The Winter Soldier does not care. He grabs the man with the bloodied nose and yanks his neck to the side, cracking the bones until the body goes limp. The metal doors are ripped from their hinges and more bullets fly his way. He shields himself with one of the doors – thinks of the Captain for a moment – and then launches it at the group in front of him. His gun is pulled and he shoots.

There’s a pallet of crates, filled with weapons most likely, that he kicks over and jumps onto, using it to propel himself up onto a catwalk that leads to a control room. The people are yelling in panic, trying to scream orders at the asset, and he thinks bitterly that he would follow them if his mind wasn’t a haze of rage.

He flips backwards, forcing himself through the door of the control room. There’s a wall he hides behind for a moment, allowing himself to take a breath.

No one in the room stands a chance. They seem so feeble compared to the Captain. They seem so incompetent compared to his efficiency.

The Soldier shoots the glass out and throws one of his few grenades, taking down some of the slower men. Constant gunfire and smoke bombs do not detour the Soldier’s actions. He runs out onto the catwalk, shooting to the side before he disappears into another vent, the smoke masking his temporary retreat.

He sits in the vent and waits, counting the rapid beats of his heart. The few people left before are now fleeing the room. He follows through the vent, not making a sound.

The men move to a larger group, talking in panicked whispers, announcing that the asset has gone rogue. They don’t know what to do, so they call someone.

“Reprogram?” one of them asks. “But… we can’t even get close! He’s killed half the men at our base already – Yes, sir.”

The Winter Soldier sneaks out of the vent this time, crouching down behind a shelf. He’s tired of this fight already, doesn’t know why he came here in the first place.

He has one gun left but there are barely any bullets. Raising his arm, he shoots three men in the head, drops the gun, and rolls out to take cover behind a desk as the men begin to shoot back.

“Asset, stand down!” one of them demands.

The Winter Soldier snarls and hurls the desk, knocking the remaining four men down. He’s quick, moving deftly and with purpose. He stabs one in the throat while gripping another with his metal hand and squeezing. The other two stumble to their feet, shooting, but he deflects it with his arm and hurls the dead man in their direction. He’s in the air, legs around a neck without even realizing it. The Soldier spreads his palm around the last man’s head, grips tight and slams him to the ground. No one survives.

His eyes squeeze shut and his brutality makes him sick, but he can’t feel too bad when he spots another cryochamber in the corner. He ignores it and starts tampering with the computers, not understanding for a few minutes that they’ve been wiped clean – except for the call that was made. He doesn’t get much information, just that their superior is stationed in Europe.

He does not want to go to Europe, so he leaves the base, through the doors this time, and sets off back to DC.

__________________________________________

He doesn’t know he fell asleep until he wakes up, feeling tired and lost. His face itches, too, probably from the growing hair on his chin. With a breath, he stands and heads into the bathroom.

The water is freezing again, makes him feel like, for a moment, everything is back to what he thought was normal just days prior. It isn’t, though, and he’s unsure if that makes him anxious or calm.

When he gets out from under the water, he decides to take a look in the mirror, hesitantly. He sees his reflection from the chamber and the photo form the museum at the same time. The dead man’s face is his face – Bucky and The Winter Soldier.

He stares for a long time, until he feels like his lungs are being crushed and he can’t breathe without falling over. On instinct, his metal fist flies up, collides with the mirror, cracking it and sending shards flying. He wishes he could feel the pain.

The Soldier puts his civilian clothes on this time, brushing his hair back so he can place the cap on his head, and he heads out of the motel and into a payphone booth nearby. The phonebook is dirty and tattered, faded; he finds the name Sam Wilson (one among several) and tears out the page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> black out days // phantogram
> 
> other important music (specifically around the shower scene): daylight goodbye // message to bears


	4. you can tell me how vile i already know that i am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are three other options. One: he gives up, goes back to HYDRA so he can take his punishment and forget all about these people called Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. Two: he can go to Europe to search for other HYDRA superiors, maybe unlock more information about his past (though he has a feeling that he doesn’t want to know anything else). Three: he can visit a man called Stark at a place called Avengers Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "When I think of you in the city  
> the sight of you among the sites  
> I get this awful sinking feeling  
> of a man about to fly  
> Never kept me up before  
> now I've been awake for days  
> I can't fight it anymore  
> I'm going through an awkward phase"

The man with the wings is named Sam and his house is empty, too. The woman on the phone had said Sam went on vacation. She wasn’t lying.

The Soldier thinks the winged man and the Captain (Sam and _Steve,_ his thoughts declare) have left DC together. He wonders if the red-headed woman is with them.

Sam’s house is not as clean as the Captain’s apartment, but it’s bigger and it looks like a home; the Soldier doesn’t understand how he knows that, but he does. There’s a large television and a stereo in one room, a cluttered kitchen table in the next. The papers are insignificant, though he does see a file that says EXO-7 FALCON. There’s a picture of the wings he destroyed.

He leaves Sam’s house with nothing.

The Soldier is starting to get frustrated that he can’t track these two men. He hasn’t heard anything about the woman, either, since she was on the news. He can try to look for her but the Soldier has a feeling that even he wouldn’t be able to find her place of residence or her hideout.

There are three other options. One: he gives up, goes back to HYDRA so he can take his punishment and forget all about these people called Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. Two: he can go to Europe to search for other HYDRA superiors, maybe unlock more information about his past (though he has a feeling that he doesn’t want to know anything else). Three: he can visit a man called Stark at a place called Avengers Tower.

He takes another car and heads to New York.

__________________________________________

It’s a very tall and oddly shaped building with people continuously moving in and out and all around it. The soldier paces the block for a few hours and then waits across the street from it, leaning against an alley wall.

He feels someone behind him before he hears the purposeful click of a gun.

“You’ve been around,” a female voice says (in Russian) almost teasingly, but he hears the underlying venom. “You’re looking for him?”

He doesn’t have to turn to know it’s the red-headed woman. He speaks in Russian, too.

“Who?”

“Captain Rogers.”

He pauses. Then, “Yes.”

“Why?” she demands.

He doesn’t reply, doesn’t know how to explain it – doesn’t _want_ to explain it. He hates that he _wants_ things.

She tries again. “You’ve been trailing him.”

“And you’ve been trailing me,” he answers immediately. He can almost hear her smile.

“You haven’t noticed.”

“I have now.” His words make her snort without humor. “What do you want?”

“The Winter Soldier,” she says coolly, and then asks, sickly sweet, “Is that you?”

He shuts his eyes and stands still and unafraid. He isn’t going to initiate a fight, if that’s what she wants.

“Yes,” he answers after a moment. She stays quiet for several long minutes, thoughtful and calculating.

“You shot me twice.” Her voice is lower now, but she isn’t any closer. “I could kill you now. You’d let me.”

She says it like she knows for a fact he would. He doesn’t know if she’s right.

“Maybe.”

“You’ll wish I had, if you hurt him.”

It’s now that the Soldier turns to look at her, sees her delicate features turned hard as she stares at him, gun pointed. She stands far enough away that he can’t disarm her suddenly. His lips curl dryly, his eyes dark and empty. He doesn’t mean to say it, doesn’t know where it comes from (barely remembers saying it sometime not too long ago).

“I knew him.”

Her face doesn’t change, but the Soldier is observant, even in his current state, and he notices a shift behind her eyes.

“Apparently.”

They stand there for a long time, staring at each other in the shadows of the alleyway, ignoring the people passing behind them. She has her gun pointed at him, steadfast; he has his metal hand tucked away tight in his pocket.

“I’ll let him know where you are,” she says, finally, and then – as an afterthought, “If you want.”

He sees that she means it.

The Soldier opens his mouth but doesn’t know what to say. His mind is starting to swim again. There’s a war in his head and he hates it.

“I don’t know.”

She stares at the Soldier until she thinks she sees something that gives her a better answer. When she blinks, so does he.

“Turn around,” she instructs him.

He does, and he knows she’s gone without even looking back.

__________________________________________

The Captain returns to Washington DC a few days later. The Winter Soldier had been struggling with his thoughts and behaviors, never staying in one place for more than a day but never leaving DC either. He couldn’t make up his mind on whether or not he wanted to see the blond man. He swore at Natasha Romanoff’s name for ever getting involved and forcing his hand.

He was more careful when he was on the move now, deciding that he would not listen to the voice in his brain that told him to visit _Steve_. He listened to the smarter part, the voice that insisted again that he watch from a distance.

The Soldier took different clothes from another apartment. He found a backpack full of school supplies that he dumped out on the floor and took to put the rest of his stolen items in. The rubber band that he acquired from a bathroom was used to tie his hair back to the nape of his neck, ignoring the strands that fell loose around his bearded face.

When he walked the streets at night, he paid attention to who might be following him. He caught sight of the red-headed woman (he doesn’t want to call her Natasha, doesn’t want to call him _Steve_ ) a couple of times, changing his path to shake her off for a while. She had better things to do than follow him around. Maybe.

He hears about the Captain’s return because people are nosey and loud. Scaling the building across from the blond man’s apartment, he sits in the dark and watches the street below.

The blond man pulls up close to the building on a motorcycle in street clothes and a shield strapped to his back. He disappears into the building and then reappears through the window, dim yellow light illuminating his body. The Soldier can’t see his face, but his posture tells of how tired he is.

He has a lot of thoughts. Some of them are loud, some are meaningless. He has two thoughts at this moment.

_I knew him_ and _leave, now._

He hops off the building, landing on his feet and into a roll with barely any noise. He sees a flash of red atop an opposite building and it makes his insides snap to attention. His head turns to the side and instead of seeing the Captain through the window, he sees him moving closer, just a few feet away, his shield gripped at his side.

The Soldier’s hands tighten into fists and his mind screams _go, go, go_.

“Bucky?”

It’s that damn name again.

It makes the Soldier’s head hurt so much that he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I was looking for you,” he continues, gently, trying not to spook him.

_Where are we going?_

The blond man takes a few slow steps forward. The Winter Soldier breathes in deeply through his nose.

_Mission. Mission. Mission._

“Bucky…”

It snaps in him. He pulls a gun out of his belt and shoots, but the Captain raises the shield in time. He only looks half-shocked when he peeks around, his blue eyes sad. The Soldier shoots again.

“Don’t follow me,” he barks out, nearly hysterical. He can’t control himself. The voice in his head yells _stupid, stupid, STUPID._

“Bucky, wait –”

“I’m not –” the Soldier chokes out, snapping his jaw shut.

_Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out for England first thing tomorrow._

His head tilts, eyes shut tight as he feels himself sway.

“Bucky, whatever it is, whatever’s going on right now, I can help you.”

The Soldier’s eyes open to see that everything is blurry. He feels like he’s high in the air, not steady on the ground.

“This isn’t payback, is it?” the soldier says out loud, like he’s choking, doesn’t know why or where the words come from, why they feel familiar.

He can’t see the way Steve blinks or how he sucks in a breath, but Steve sees him when he falls, collapsing in on himself.

Things start to go black around the Soldier’s vision, but he tries to stay awake, tries to crawl. He can’t even get his hands to press against the pavement, but he can see the blond man running towards him, just barely, and screams out, “Stop!”

He points the gun with his shaky flesh arm and presses the trigger twice, hitting his target the second time. The target stumbles. The Soldier feels a weight on his stomach then, feels himself being moved around until his arms are pinned and his oxygen is being cut off. He hears, “Natasha, stop!” and it sounds so desperate and broken that it makes him ache until he can’t feel anything at all.

__________________________________________

The first thing the Soldier knows, before he even opens his eyes, is that he’s pinned down. The first thought his mind supplies is that he’s being wiped.

He screams with his eyes wide open, but doesn’t try to escape. A wipe _would_ behis escape, and he wants it so badly right now.

“Bucky!” he hears someone shout.

“Let him,” someone else replies.

He keeps screaming until he realizes that there isn’t any pain.

The numbness hurts.

__________________________________________

“Barnes, Sergeant, 325575. Barnes, Sergeant, 325575. Barnes, Sergeant, 3255…7…5…”

The Soldier understands that he’s babbling. It’s not his name but he knows it, he thinks, while his lips keep moving, mumbling words like he has cotton in his mouth.

“Barnes, Sergeant, 3255…7…5… Steve?”

He sees the blond man before he can blink, staring down at him with an anxious face. Didn’t he used to be smaller? No, he’s… he’s the mission.

“Get that thing off his arm,” he hears the blond man say.

“ _Not_ recommended, Steve.”

“ _Now_.”

As soon as he can move his metal fingers, he tightens them around his target’s throat. Something collides with his head, hard, and he drops his arm in a daze.

“That’s not helping,” the blond man chokes out.

“Neither is your blind trust,” the woman spits back. “I could’ve killed him.”

“Nat –”

“I didn’t,” she says harshly, “because we’re friends, and it wouldn’t do your mental health any favors.”

The Soldier closes his eyes and listens to the voices that sound muffled against his pounding heart.

“He knows me,” the blond man says earnestly. “He pulled me out. He saved my life.”

“One act of kindness doesn’t erase decades of conditioning,” she says in a tone that sounds both dangerous and calm. “Trust me, Steve. I know.”

“He’s my best friend –” the blond man starts.

But the woman interrupts, emphasizes a different word. “ _Was_.”

“No. _Is_.”

She makes a disgruntled noise. “He’s not the same man you grew up with.”

“I’m not,” the Soldier finally croaks out, able to see clearly now. The red-headed woman and the blond man are both staring at him with different expressions on their faces.

“Bucky…”

The Soldier jerks his head away at the sound of the name. It’s different when the blond man says it. It makes him feel strange and he doesn’t like it. The red-headed woman seems to understand.

“Stop calling him that,” she reprimands softly. “That’s not who he is, at least not right now.”

The Soldier looks back over slowly and sees a flash of pain on the Captain’s face.

“What can we call you?” he asks this time, a little strained.

“The Winter Soldier.”

The blond man’s jaw tightens like he’s angry, but he shares a look with the woman and lets out a tired sigh.

“Soldier,” he says instead, “you were repeating something a few minutes ago. Do you know what you were saying?”

The Captain looks so hopeful.

The Winter Soldier lies. “No.”

“You were looking for Captain Rogers,” the woman tries next. “Can you tell us why?”

He didn’t answer her in the alley and he doesn’t answer her now.

“You said you knew him,” she prompts. She gets down low when he fails to answer again and looks him in the eye. “I said I’d kill you if you hurt him. Do you remember?”

“Yeah,” the Soldier mumbles, staring back just as deadly.

“And you hurt him, didn’t you?”

“Natasha,” the blond man warns.

“I shot him,” the Soldier says clearly, without emotion, just stating a fact that they all know.

“You should be dead right now.”

The Winter Soldier stares at her for a long moment, can see the blond man out of the corner of his eye. He says, quietly, roughly, “Then kill me.” It’s more of a challenge than a plea.

Natasha tilts her head with a ghost of a smile on her lips and says, just as challengingly, “Can you give me a reason not to?”

A cool voice in the back of his mind thinks _yes._

__________________________________________

The woman puts a disc back onto the Soldier’s arm when he halfheartedly tries, again, to escape his binds by smashing his head against the blond man’s face. His captors look like they’re losing patience with him.

_Let them help, dummy._

He snarls at the voice inside his head.

“You think Stark has a safe place for him?” the blond man murmurs from outside the door.

“You’re gonna keep him against his will?” the woman asks incredulously.

“You said he was trying to find me, which means he wants my help.” The voice is stubborn.

The Soldier predicts that the woman rolls her eyes.

“He’s erratic.” The Soldier’s fingernails dig into his palms. “And scared. His programming hasn’t gone away–”

“But you think it will?”

“Get out of your emotions and think about this for a minute. Your friend died when he fell off that train. The man in that room is a weapon designed specifically for HYDRA. His mind is probably scattered beyond saving.”

“I don’t believe that,” the blond man states without hesitance. “And I don’t think you do either.”

The woman wavers this time, probably searching her friend’s features for something to use against him. The Soldier doubts there’ll be anything.

After a long moment of silence, she says, “You do understand that he’s probably in a lot of pain? However you try to _fix_ him might end up making him worse.”

“I can’t imagine anything worse than the way he is right now.”

The Soldier can barely hear her when she says, “You’d be surprised.” And then, a little louder, “I’ll contact Stark.”

“Natasha,” the blond man calls. The Soldier assumes that the woman stops to look. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t say anything. The Soldier’s forehead creases and his eyebrows furrow, and he stares up at the ceiling as if he’s never seen it before. Stark… the name sounds familiar. He doesn’t want to figure out why.

When the blond man re-enters the room, he finds an empty bed and curtains blowing in the wind. The ghost of his friend has gone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> demons // the national
> 
> I hadn't realized how short this one was, but it's too late to change it now. Still, hope it's okay.


	5. i'll grow old, start acting my age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Soldier doesn’t want help.
> 
> But he thinks… Bucky might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How I worry about you  
> No one to pull you out of the blue  
> Anger and sadness get the best of you  
> Your words choked by a weak tongue  
> Too sad to be so young  
> Dependence on despair will get you nowhere  
> This time, this time, where did you go?  
> You're not alone, where did you go?"

The Winter Soldier begins to understand, after another week, that he doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t want to go back to HYDRA, but sometimes his thoughts get so powerful that he just wants to feel empty again. He made it his mission to see the blond man but when he finally does, he panics and runs away. He’s confused and tired, so he goes to sleep in the shadows of another alley.

He dreams in slow-motion, of smiles and blue eyes; he’s laughing and it’s infectious to the person beside him.

He dreams of a man that he promises to follow, until the end of the line.

He wakes up crying.

__________________________________________

The Winter Soldier doesn’t want help.

But he thinks… Bucky might.

__________________________________________

The Soldier’s face is bearded again and his dirty hair has been, with the exception of a few cascading strands around his face, pulled back messily into the rubber band. His arm hasn’t been right since the discs the red-headed woman used on him and he doesn’t know how to fix it this time, but he’s still fully mobile and has gone unseen by the blond man and his friends, possibly because he spends his days hiding in the museum he told himself he wouldn’t go back to.

The pictures and videos of his face are still the same, are still him; they haven’t changed like he has. When he stares at them for too long he feels more thoughtful than upset and it makes him scrunch his face in confusion and mild annoyance.

He drops into the sewers at night and watches the rats scurry away from him. Sometimes he sleeps. Sometimes he dreams of things that make his chest feel tight. Sometimes he has nightmares that make him scream until he can’t breathe. Sometimes he stays awake with an empty mind or one full of violence and anger.

He’s uneasy.

The Soldier stops in front of the blond man’s apartment again.

The window is just as easily slid open as before and the inside is so quiet that the Soldier isn’t sure if anyone’s there. He stands with his back to the wall, counting the time in his head. Four minutes have passed before the blond man takes one step out of the bedroom and then halts, his body tense and ready for action.

The blond man – _Steve_ – stares at the Soldier waiting in the shadows, neither of them moving.

Steve starts to say something, thinks better of it.

The Soldier watches him. The blond man isn’t holding his shield but it probably isn’t far away.

“You called me Bucky,” he says stiffly. “Who’s Bucky?”

The Soldier knows who Bucky is – at least, objectively he does. Subjectively… maybe he’s starting to learn, but it doesn’t feel like anyone he’s ever been or anyone he’ll ever be. The Soldier knows that the Captain knows, though, and so he asks.

_That man on the bridge, who was he?_

_I knew him._

He blinks the blurry thoughts away, focusing on the clear pain that followed.

He won’t be punished for asking a question this time.

Steve’s quiet while the Soldier momentarily gets lost in his own head. When he does answer, it’s soft and sincere.

“A friend.”

“Bucky Barnes, 1917 to 1944,” he says mechanically. The Captain’s face is full of concern. The Soldier repeats what he heard at the museum. “Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.”

The Soldier can see that the Captain looks like he’s gotten the wind knocked out of him, but the man has incredible self-control and he doesn’t lash out. He just watches the ghost in front of him, trying to find something to say.

“It was 1945, actually,” he decides on, voice even and clear.

He thinks of the red-headed woman’s words: _get out of your emotions_.

“You fell off the train in 1945. I watched it happen.”

The Winter Soldier sees flashes of a train and snow, _down, down, down_ again.

_You are to be the new fist of HYDRA._

He swallows.

“There…” the Soldier hesitates. The Captain stares intently. “There’s a man – I keep seeing him. He has glasses and …”

The Captain’s face hardens after a moment of thought. He doesn’t really have to guess. “Zola. He captured you, did some experimenting… I didn’t realize it until – I didn’t know it at the time. It’s why you survived.”

The Winter Soldier feels removed from the situation, like it’s not him they’re talking about, because it isn’t – not really. But still.

“I don’t remember things,” he starts slowly. “Sometimes I do. I see things, at once or not at all.” When he stares at the blond man he feels like he can confess things that he’s too afraid to think. “I think I’m crazy.”

“You’re not, Buck,” the Captain says, and maybe he believes him, just a little, and maybe the name doesn’t make him flinch so much today. “I know people that can help you.”

The Soldier gives a short, bitter laugh. He feels like he can’t move. “Help me with what?” 

“Help you remember, if you want. I know talking about things can be a relief.”

“I don’t know if I want help,” he admits, because he can’t understand that half of him needs it like water when the other half tries to avoid it like the plague.

The Captain smiles a little, so softly. “You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t.”

The voice inside his head agrees.

The Captain looks more at ease when the Soldier sits down.

“You’ll have to cooperate, you know. That means no weapons, no fighting. You have to force yourself to get the help you need.”

The Winter Soldier doesn’t like the sound of that, tenses his muscles and balls his hands into fists. He even tries to reach for a knife before the blond man’s gentle gaze makes him waver.

He hears someone that sounds kind of like him whisper _suck it up, pal_.

He shuts his eyes and listens to the Captain speak into a phone.

__________________________________________

A helicopter hovers in the middle of the street. The blond man looks a little peeved about it, but the agents that exit the aircraft say that Stark insisted on transporting The Winter Soldier this way. He notices that the red-headed woman is the copilot and that she gives him a lingering stare. He ignores her and tries to focus on the quiet drawl hiding amongst the cold thoughts in his head.

They had patted him down, finding every single knife and gun and grenade on his person, before sticking two discs against his metal limb. They put his flesh one in some sort of lock and bound he legs together, too. They would not underestimate his threat level.

As soon as they land atop of the gaudy “A” building, they’re greeted by a grinning man. He’s wearing sunglasses and a dark, faded t-shirt, and has his arms spread wide.

“You made it back without a single accident!” he shouts over the noise of the helicopter. “I’m impressed! Kind of disappointed. Speaking of –” he points to the Captain. “I’m a little hurt. It’s been, like, 10 months since you stopped by. You haven’t called or written. I checked my mail just for you.”

The blond man steps out onto the helipad and smiles softly. “Tony.”

The shorter man smiles again, more of a smirk this time. “Good to see you, Cap. You too, Romanoff,” he adds when the woman appears beside him. And then the man slides off his glasses and peers into the vehicle to get a look at the Soldier. His eyes go straight to the metal arm and the man whistles. “Nice one,” he says, darting brown eyes up to blue. “I can do better.”

The Winter Soldier tilts his head and the blond man sets a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder, a warning. But nothing is said before a woman with pulled-back brown hair appears to announce, “We’re ready.”

The man clasps his hands together. “Let’s show our guest to his room. Oh, and you know I didn’t paint a whole floor red, white, and blue just because I had the urge.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I’ll stay as long as Bucky’s here,” the Captain concedes. The man known as Stark looks a little pleased.

“JARVIS, pull up the floor specs.”

“Of course, sir,” a disembodied voice sounds.

The Soldier, who still has his arms locked up, narrows his eyes as he’s led into the building. There’s a big screen in the middle of the room, near the elevator they head towards.

“Your assassin buddy’s not far. Cap’s a level below, Tasha’s a level above, so we’ve got ourselves a Winter Soldier sandwich. Sound good?”

Stark is addressing the Soldier now, but he gets no answer. The man raises an eyebrow and shrugs, not bothered at all by the lack of response.

The Winter Soldier is placed into the elevator with the Captain, Stark, the red-headed woman, the brown haired woman with a bun, another man, and a voice called JARVIS. His eyes dart around and his pulse starts to quicken, and he wants to break out of his bonds and out of this small space.

The Captain notices when he begins to fidget. So does the red-headed woman. They don’t say anything.

The floor they stop at is very large and open with several doors down a hallway. There’s a wall with a television mounted on it and kitchen towards the corner. He can see the buildings and the sky through a huge window, which is next to a cabinet filled with amber liquids and little glasses. A long leather couch and a matching chair sit in front of the television and the long hallway is to their left when they step out. There’s a screen at the far end that shows them standing there, that shows him looking, letting him know right away that’s he’s being monitored closely.  He faces forward again.

The woman with the brown hair leads them down the hall. The Captain and the red-headed woman don’t leave his side. Stark starts to babble about something, but the Soldier doesn’t really listen, just walks on, observing everything he can for future reference.

He can break out of here easily, he thinks, once the Captain and the woman leave ( _if_ they leave).

 _You have to force yourself to get the help you need_.

The Winter Soldier sits down in a chair that’s mounted to the floor when they ask him to. There’s a table several feet away that the red-headed woman sits in front of while he stares at the wall.

“I’ve got some people to get in touch with,” Stark says once the other agents start to clear out, leaving only the four of them. “Come by my lab later,” he says to the Captain, and then, to the Soldier, “Good luck.”

The red-headed woman gives the lingering blond man a pointed look. His lips are a tight line when he turns towards the Soldier.

“I’ll see you in a few.”

The door closes behind his large figure and the woman hits a button, waiting to speak until the Soldier looks at her.

“My name’s Natasha,” she says, as if he didn’t know. “That’s what you call me when we’re having a conversation. What do I call you?”

He wonders if she thinks he has a different answer this time.

“The Winter Soldier.”

She waits a beat. Then, “Okay. I’m going to ask you some basic questions and you should answer to the best of your ability. Tell me when to start.”

He hates this already.

“Fine.”

“What’s your name?”

“The Winter Soldier,” he answers again.

“Do you know when you were born?”

“No.”

He sees her write it down before she continues. “Do you have parents?”

His eyebrows draw together. “I don’t know.”

She pauses again, watching his expression. She asks, “Are you human?”

It’s a question that would sound ridiculous to anyone, but not the Soldier. It’s one he’s asked himself before.

He answers honestly, repeating, “I don’t know.”

She marks this down, too.

“Who did you work for when you were sent to kill Captain Rogers?”

He inhales deeply through is nose. “HYDRA.”

“What did you do for them?”

“Eliminate the specified targets.”

“Do you remember any of the targets before Captain Rogers?” she asks and her eyes are like fire.

He doesn’t want to remember that, but he thinks for a minute anyway, says, “Nicholas J. Fury, Director of SHIELD. Status: Alive. Mission: Failed.”

She scribbles his words down, flicking her gaze between the paper and his face. “Is that the first mission you’ve failed?”

“Yes,” he nearly spits out. He can’t help but get twitchy again.

“Do you remember any of the targets before Fury?”

There’s a long stretch of silence where they just stare at each other, neither of them moving. The – Natasha doesn’t prompt him to continue because she knows that he will; knows that he needs time to think and process and understand, to remember the things he wants to forget, if he hasn’t already forgotten them.

“There was a man,” he says finally. “You were with him.” Her expression tightens, just barely, but he sees it. “I shot him through you.”

“You did,” she confirms. “Anyone else?”

It’s hard for him to remember the people he’s killed; there’s been so many and it’s all a blur inside his head with everything else. He feels a little sick trying to make out the faces well enough to describe. “There was one… he was important,” he says, clearing his throat a little. His eyes move, trying to recall a memory, and then he knows why the name of the guy who owns the building sounds familiar. “My target’s name was Stark.”

Natasha doesn’t look surprised. Maybe kind of sad. He looks away from her.

“What happened to you in between missions?”

The screaming in his head is back. The Soldier sees sparks, feels ice, tastes rubber. He has to tell himself that it’s not happening, that he’s not strapped down to a chair – but he’s restrained and it triggers him.

He screams again, like he did on the bed in the Captain’s apartment, like he did when the machine was around his head and he could feel black masking the colors in his mind. Natasha yells at someone to _stay out_ , but he can’t see anyone, can’t see anything except white and red and black. But just like before, he realizes that there’s no pain, that his memories aren’t being wiped out, and his throat closes abruptly. Natasha hasn’t moved from her spot but she looks like she’s ready to pounce at any moment.

“You were tortured.” She answers her own question. “Your mind was wiped between most missions and then you were put into cryostasis. You were frozen for years at a time, thawed out by HYDRA or one of their infiltrated governments when they needed you.”

His head hurts and he wants to leave.

“There’s a file on you. It’s sparse, but… It says that sometimes you became violent because you remembered things. Does that sound familiar?”

It doesn’t, really, but it’s not something he would doubt.

Natasha knows before even he does that he’s about to shut down. She asks him one more thing as he stares blankly at the floor.

“How does the exhibit at the museum make you feel?”

Breathily, without thinking, he answers, “Haunted.”

She leaves him sitting there. No one, not even the Captain, comes in for a long time.

__________________________________________

They send him to a room with some sort of electric wall that would not allow him to leave unless given access. He lies on the bed and falls asleep hearing hushed voices in the hall.

His eyes fly open a few hours later, his mind eerily quiet except for one word: _Mission_.

The Winter Soldier doesn’t remember the warning about the door until he’s knocked down by a current that makes his body feel numb for a few second. The attempted breech has set off an alarm, which makes him panic, and his metal fists pounds against a metal wall. It dents but is otherwise unscathed. Rushing towards the wall with the window, he jumps and kicks his foot out, but it barely cracks. He tries again, alternating between a fist and a foot, but nothing happens. It’s then that he hears that disembodied voice.

“Mr. Barnes, I’d advise you to attempt relaxing.” The Soldier keeps trying to punch his way out of the window, grunting as he goes. “Captain Rogers is on his way, sir.”

The Soldier freezes, eyes darting around, _mission_ hissing in his mind. Calmly, he turns towards the guarded door and waits, watching beneath his curtain of hair. The Captain appears in the doorway looking panicked.

“Bucky? Are you okay?”

When the Soldier doesn’t answer, the Captain presses a code into a keypad, disabling the security, and steps inside. The Soldier’s at him in a minute, tackling him to the floor. The man, for once, is caught off guard, probably because of a sleep-addled mind, but he’s fast and attempts to react. They struggle on the floor, metal fingers gripping a flesh throat. The Captain wiggles underneath the Soldier until he can get his foot pressed against his attacker’s chest and then he kicks him off. The Soldier flips in the air and lands on his feet, but the room is too small and he body bangs against the metal wall.

“Bucky, stop!” the Captain gasps, blond hair disheveled and face red.

The Soldier lunges at him again, yells, “You’re my mission!”

The two lock onto each other – the Soldier’s punches being blocked nearly every time. It’s not until the Captain orders, “Soldier, stand down!” that he freezes. He gets a punch to the face that knocks him to the floor.

“Steve, get out now,” he hears Natasha say angrily. The Soldier could stop him, but he doesn’t, and then the Captain is outside the electric doorway with the woman and he’s still on the floor, staring up with dark eyes. “Do you know how stupid you just were?” she hisses to the blond man.

He’s wheezing. “Yeah, I’m starting to get it.”

“You try that trick again, I’ll put a bullet through your brain,” she says very dangerously to the Soldier.

The Captain looks as if he’s the one being threatened. “Don’t say that,” he whispers. “Please.”

Natasha keeps her eyes on the Soldier, tells the man at her side to go and then reassures Stark through JARVIS that she’s got things under control. The Soldier stands himself up, rubbing his face absently. The woman watches him and after a while he notices that her expression is a little softer.

“I don’t know exactly what you’ve been through,” she says, “but you have to take control of yourself if you want to get through this.”

The Soldier feels a little dazed as thoughts start filtering back into his head. He looks at Natasha and quietly asks, “Have you been through something like this?”

“Yes,” she says, honest but stiff, and then she’s gone and everything’s quiet again.

__________________________________________

The Winter Soldier doesn’t see the Captain when he’s brought into the interrogation room the next day. He doesn’t ask but Natasha seems to know he wonders; she seems to know a lot of things and it makes him uncomfortable.

“We’ve decided that his presence triggers violent outbursts, so he won’t be around for a while,” she informs him.

It makes his chest feel tight.

Natasha starts out the same as the day before. “What’s your name?”

“The Winter Soldier.”

“Do you know when you were born?”

“No.”

“Do you have parents?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you human?”

He pauses again before answering the same; “I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you kill Captain Rogers on the helicarrier?”

The Soldier stares at the closed door in front of him. He feels confused.

“I… I thought I remembered something.”

“You thought you remembered?” she questions casually. His eyes dart around the room.

“He was telling me things that I didn’t understand.”

“Did what he say trigger some memories?”

“Maybe,” he says. Then, scrunching his face up, he amends, “I don’t know.”

“What did he say to you?” Natasha asks.

The Soldier breathes, trying to listen to the lighter voice instead of the one that makes him want to fight. He licks his lips. “He said my name was James Buchanan Barnes. He called me his friend.”

“Did that make you feel anything?” she asks. He nods, short and slow. “What did it make you feel?”

“Angry.”

“So why didn’t you kill him?”

The Winter Soldier shuts his eyes and when he does he sees hazy images of the Captain on the helicarrier, throwing down his shield, surrendering to death.

 _I’m with you till the end of the line_.

The Soldier sucks in a shaky breath, ignoring Natasha’s observant gaze. “He said something that I thought I…”

“What did he say?”

It’s a careful question, sort of a harmless one, but it makes him ache. There are tears in his eyes that he tries and succeeds in pushing back down. He won’t repeat the words and she gets the hint after a stretch of silence.

“You didn’t have to pull him from the Potomac, so why did you?”

The Soldier doesn’t know where his answer comes from, but he lets the words roll off his tongue. “I don’t know. I saw him fall, remembered that I fell, a long time ago. I think… he would’ve saved me, if he could.”

“And yet you’ve tried to kill him multiple times since.”

“It was my mission,” he blurts. “I have to finish my mission. But –”

“But?” she inquires with a raised brow.

He lets out a breath. “Part of me can’t.”

It’s the closest thing to describing the thoughts in his frenzied mind that he can get for now.

“Do you remember Steve Rogers?” Natasha asks. The gentle tone makes his eyes return to her.

“I see him,” he admits. “Or – I think it’s him. I see a guy with blond hair, blue eyes, looks just like him, ‘cept sometimes he’s smaller.”

Natasha hums. “And how do you feel when you have those memories?”

“It depends.”

He doesn’t tell her that sometimes he cries.

“What about when you see him in person? How do you feel then?”

The Soldier shifts in his seat, anxious over the fact that he can’t move his arms.

“He’s my mission.”

Natasha keeps quiet while she writes in his file. She takes her time, allowing him a moment of peace. Something’s eating at him and a voice in his head tells him to _just spit it out_.

“Is he okay?” he asks, and he sees that his words catch Natasha by surprise. She looks up at him with a tilted head and soft eyes. He understands that she’s letting him see this emotion, probably to make him feel more at ease with his own.

“He’s fine,” she assures him. “Do you want me to tell him you asked?”

His immediate reaction is to say _no_. However, he makes the mistake of hesitating and the word that comes out is, “Okay.”

Natasha looks pleased. The Soldier feels ashamed.

She doesn’t ask any more questions, gets up to leave instead, but she pauses long enough to tell him that Sam will be coming in to talk to him, too.

The Soldier thinks that this so-called ‘help’ is pointless.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> strings // msmr
> 
> I don't know about this one, but have it anyway. 
> 
> (And thanks to anyone taking the time to comment and/or leave kudos. It's very much appreciated!)


	6. it'll be a brand new day in a life that you hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, The Winter Soldier isn’t exactly a name. It’s more of a title. Like, Steve goes by Cap or Captain or any variation of, but that doesn’t change the fact that his name is Steve. Having an identity is important.”
> 
> The chaos in his mind returns once Sam leaves. He hears screaming; he hears the name Steve. He hears the name Bucky. When he closes his eyes, he sees blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I didn't ask for that, you give me heart attack  
> I didn't want to care and then I saw you there  
> Been working like a dog, I turned all my dreams off  
> I didn't know my name, I didn't know my name  
> I got a little bit longer, I got a ways to go"

He’s sitting in the chair before Natasha gets in the next day, but she has a small smile for him when she arrives.

“Steve was very pleased that you asked about him,” she tells the Soldier as she sits down, like it should mean something to him. Maybe it does. But then she opens the file and gets started immediately. “What’s your name?”

“The Winter Soldier.”

“Do you know when you were born?”

“Bucky Barnes was born in 1917,” he says, and then he makes a face, like he’s said something strange.

Natasha’s eyebrow rises. “Are you Bucky Barnes?”

“No,” is the first thing out of his mouth.

“Do you have parents?”

“No,” he says again, unlike the previous times. She writes it down.

“Are you human?”

He had had a hard night, one filled with flashes of nightmarish images and thoughts and sounds. He doesn’t really feel angry today, just empty.

“Am I?”

She doesn’t answer him.

“Going off of yesterday… after you saved Captain Rogers from the Potomac, what did you do?”

He tells her a lit bit about the days he spent wandering because it’s easy to, because they’re facts that he remembers. He admits to the woman that he had felt so many things, that it had been overwhelming. He tells her quietly that he went to his last known HYDRA base, killed some people; he went to another HYDRA base and killed even more.

He tells her that he stole numerous things – money, clothes, food, cars – and that he stayed at a motel for a while. She asks him specific questions, then vague ones, and listens when he talks, waits until he’s said all he wants to say even if he doesn’t quite know how to say it. He tells her that he blacks out sometimes, that he doesn’t know why but it happens when his mind gets too chaotic. She says that these things are different for everyone, but that maybe it’s his mind’s way of trying to protect him, or that maybe he has warring personas in his head that can’t figure out where to go when the other pushes through.

The Soldier doesn’t need to tell her that he had been following the Captain because she already knows, has already confronted him, but he does tell her that he can’t decide if he wants to see the blond man – and he calls him the blond man out loud – or if he wants to kill him. He starts to feel like he can’t breathe so she tells him that they’re finished for the day.

“You did really well today, Soldier,” she says softer than she ever has yet. The words and the tone are strange coming from her, but they aren’t suspicious and the thinks maybe he believes her.

The familiar man comes into the room awhile later and sits down by the electric alarm door with a serious, but gentle, expression. His lips curl up just a little when he says, “My name’s Sam. I believe we’ve met before – y’know, when you broke my wings. I also heard you broke into my house. Got a track record goin?”

The Soldier doesn’t answer, so Sam continues with ease. “I’m a guy that likes to know who I’m talking to, maybe you’re the same, so I’ll tell you a fact and if you feel like you wanna share one with me, you go right ahead. So. I’m a Pararescueman.”

_You have to force yourself to get the help you need._

The Soldier is annoyed. “I’m an asset to HYDRA.”

“ _Were_ ,” Sam stresses. “You aren’t anymore.” Then, “I did two tours in Afghanistan.”

“I’ve been around… for a long time.”

“How long’s a long time?” Sam questions casually, leaning back in his seat with the file open against his thighs.

“I can’t remember,” the Soldier says. It’s not _I don’t know_ because he thinks that he might know, somewhere inside his head. “Information says that a dead man with my face was born in 1917.”

Sam nods. His tone is somber when he confesses, “I watched my closest friend die.”

The Soldier stares at him, feeling something akin to pain that makes him vulnerable. “I see myself falling off a train,” he admits in a raspy voice despite the protests in his mind telling him not to say anything. “Used to see it a lot… didn’t know if it was real. They told me it wasn’t, but –” He swallows. “The Captain said B – said I fell off a train in 1945.”

“So you remember it happening to you, or do you see it happening to someone else?”

He averts his eyes. “I didn’t die. Wish I had.”

When he glances back up he sees that Sam doesn’t look all that surprised, but the Soldier feels shocked and confused by his own admission. Talking to these people makes him say things that he’d never think about otherwise, probably because he _couldn’t_ think about them.

“That’s a big thing to say,” Sam tells him. “The truth hurts sometimes. Maybe that’s why you attack Steve when he’s around.”

The Soldier feels himself deflate. Maybe this guy is right. He wants to push the hair out of his face but his arms are still locked, so he tilts his head back against the wall instead.

“He thinks I’m someone else,” the Soldier nearly whispers. “He calls me Bucky, but I – I’m not.”

“Bucky fell off a train, you fell off a train. You guys have the same face. You sure you’re not one person?”

“Natasha,” he says, and it’s the first time the name leaves his lips, “said that Bucky died. I survived. We’re not the same.” _Anymore_ , he doesn’t add. Sam hears it anyway.

“You don’t have to be the _same_ man. You just gotta understand that his past is yours. I mean, do you identify at all with the name James Buchanan Barnes?”

The twitch in his mind has returned, making him grit his teeth when the anger starts to bubble under his skin. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and his eyes stay focused on the wall behind Sam.

“I hear Barnes sometimes. Sergeant Barnes.”

“Do you hear Bucky?”

The Winter Soldier jerks his head to the side, eyes shutting. He hears it more than he can stand, over and over again sometimes, and then it’s worse when it’s said for real, flying out of the blond man’s mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It doesn’t feel like it.

“I hear the name. I think. I don’t know.” His words become strained at the end, pitched a little higher to match his oncoming hysteria. He thinks that Natasha was right again, that there are two people in his head (maybe more, who the hell knows) that are at war with each other. They both cause him misery that he thinks only sometimes he deserves.

“You hear Bucky say things?”

“Maybe,” he grits out.

“Are there any other voices in your head?”

He hears the man with glasses – Zola, the Captain had called him; he hears his handlers. He hears _Steve_.

“A few, sometimes. When I remember things.”

“You get bits and pieces,” Sam guesses. He’s right. “Do you remember Steve at all?”

The Soldier gives a nod.

Sam asks, “Do you feel like you know Steve or do you just feel like you’re supposed to know him?”

“I knew him.” He’s said it already, so many times now, but it’s the only thing that’s been proven. It’s unquestionable. So Sam doesn’t question it.

“Hey, you know, this is a pretty huge place. There’s a rec room, a gym… maybe, if me, you, and Natasha make some progress, you can start getting back into the real world. Or Stark’s version of it.” Sam sees that the Soldier reacts poorly to the name Stark. “Tony, I mean,” he corrects. “There anything you might be interested in?” He pauses to allow the Soldier to answer – he doesn’t. “Well, I’m giving you homework, then. You focus on thinking of things you might enjoy. Don’t try to guess about what you used to like if you think it’ll trigger you, just think about some options. I expect suggestions tomorrow, Soldier.”

Sam doesn’t leave until the Soldier acknowledges his orders and then, before he goes, he asks JARVIS to pull up a list of available activities for the Soldier to consider.

The only thing he’s interested in is fighting – or, as the list calls it, sparring.

The Winter Soldier doesn’t sleep because he knows he’ll dream.

__________________________________________

“What’s your name?”

“The Winter Soldier.”

“Do you know when you were born?”

“The museum said 1917.”

Natasha gives him one of her usual looks. “Did the museum say _you_ were born in 1917, or that Bucky Barnes was?”

He hesitates, but only briefly. “We have the same face.”

“Does that make you the same person?”

“Sam says that maybe we’re one person, but not the same man.”

His words make Natasha thoughtful, he can tell. “Do you believe that?”

The Soldier thinks he might. When he tells her, she smiles – just a little quirk of her lips, but enough for him to see.

“Do you have parents?” she continues. She isn’t disappointed when he says no. When she asks if he’s human, he considers for a moment, and then goes back to _maybe_.

“Do you remember anything before your fall?”

It’s hard to tell, really. He gets flashes of things that he knows have to be before HYDRA, before his fall – and that in and of itself is an accomplishment; that he can even start to _think_ he’s _remembering_. Things aren’t so clear the further back from The Winter Soldier he goes and he tells her so.

“Let’s start with why you were on that train.”

He wants to say he doesn’t remember, but maybe that would be a lie. He feels like he knows, or that he knows enough to start putting the puzzle together. “Sergeant Barnes,” he says, trying to chase away the chaos in his head. He can see the wall of information at the Smithsonian and disregards it, can do it on his own. “Sergeant, that means I was in the army. Bucky died in 1945, so we fought in World War II.”

It doesn’t escape either of them that the Soldier separates himself from Bucky for certain things.

“We were chasing HYDRA.”

“Who were you with?” Natasha interjects.

“The Captain. I don’t remember how it happened. Bucky wasn’t strong enough. He fell. I was fighting against HYDRA and then I was fighting for them.”

“Do you or did you consider yourself an agent of HYDRA?” Natasha asks seriously.

The Soldier responds immediately. “No.”

The Soldier learns that Natasha and Sam counteract each other. Natasha wants answers, wants him to remember, and wants to know how he feels. Sam wants to talk like they’re pals; he wants to help him learn things about who he is now, wants to make him take a break from the pain.

“So what’cha got for me today?” he asks when he comes in, rubbing his hands together as he sits down.

“I want to spar,” he tells Sam, and he surprises himself by the word _want_.

Sam considers. “That doesn’t give me much to work with, but I appreciate the cooperation. You’re on the right track. Being physical is a huge part of feeling better, you know? We can start you off with running.”

The Soldier makes a face that gets Sam laughing.

“Not a runner? I’ll have to talk with Cap, but here’s what I’m thinking. If we can get you out of this room and onto a schedule, and you agree to run, maybe we can mix some sparring in, too. But in the meantime, in between our visits and on the nights you can’t sleep, I recommend knitting. Now, hear me out – I see a lot of people with a lot of problems. They need something to keep their minds and hands occupied, and knitting does the job. Would you be up for it?”

The Soldier might be a little baffled. He doesn’t know what knitting is or how to do it. He finds not knowing a skill to be annoying.

“I don’t know how to knit.”

“They’ve got books on it. And JARVIS can help you out.”

The disembodied voice? “I don’t understand JARVIS,” he tells Sam, who grins in return.

“That’s a question for Tony. I’ll send him by sometime.” Then he pauses to scan the Soldier’s face. “Maybe I can send Cap by, too. If you’re ready for that.”

One voice in the Soldier’s head thinks he is, but the other’s not so sure.

Sam talks to him about Washington DC for a while. He talks to him about what he says is his favorite TV show, about his favorite foods. He doesn’t mind when the Soldier can’t – and won’t – contribute to the conversation. However, Sam expects answers to his more important questions.

“You know, The Winter Soldier isn’t exactly a name. It’s more of a title. Like, Steve goes by Cap or Captain or any variation of, but that doesn’t change the fact that his name is Steve. Having an identity is important.”

The chaos in his mind returns once Sam leaves. He hears screaming; he hears the name _Steve_. He hears the name _Bucky_. When he closes his eyes, he sees blood.

Again, he does not sleep, but after a while he hears a voice drawling out a tune, whispering _somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby… somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true…_

He thinks that it sounds like his voice and it nearly makes him laugh. Maybe he’s crazy after all.

__________________________________________

The Soldier sits himself up on the bed later on, absently rubbing his flesh fingers against his metal arm. It still needs maintenance. He won’t ask for it.

He doesn’t know the date or the time, but he knows that it hasn’t been long enough since Natasha’s last visit for her to be coming again.

He freezes when he sees the Captain lingering outside the door.

The blond man enters the room carefully, after a moment of making his intentions clear.

Seeing his face hurts the Soldier more today, for some reason.

“I’ve been told you’re doing well,” the blond man says after a brief moment of silence. His voice is calm and steady. “I didn’t want to stay away for so long, but Natasha and Sam insisted. I’m not supposed to tolerate any violence you have towards me. That’s not something... well, I wouldn’t do it this way, but they seem to know best, so it’s not up to me.”

The Soldier has a feeling that the Captain isn’t used to being unable to help.

His mind is ringing. “You’re my mission,” he says on impulse, but he sounds more confused this time, unsure.

“Bucky –”

The Soldier vaults himself off the bed and kicks the Captain in the chest with both feet, slamming him into the metal wall. It’s not as forceful as the other attacks, they both know, but it’s still violent, still programmed into him.

The blond man looks torn and disappointed when he twists the Soldier’s leg, throwing him down to the floor. The Soldier doesn’t move to attack again, so the Captain leaves.

It’s not a good day.

“Natasha had an emergency mission,” Sam explains later. “She’ll be back tomorrow, which is probably a good thing since word is you tried to attack Steve this morning. What happened there?”

The Soldier really can’t explain. It’s amazing that he tries. “He’s my mission.”

“He was,” Sam replies. “But then you saved him. You’re not part of HYDRA anymore, buddy. It’s time you learn to be your own man. Speaking of, did you think of a name?”

He didn’t think about it much, truthfully, but the first thing that pops into his head is _Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out to England first thing tomorrow._

__________________________________________

“What’s your name?” Natasha asks when she returns the next day. He knows that she knows about his outburst, but she doesn’t seem upset.

“Barnes.”

She looks at him with an expression he can’t quite decipher, but it’s pleasant, so he doesn’t look away.

“Do you know when you were born, Barnes?”

He’s consistent. “The museum says James Buchanan Barnes was born in 1917.”

“Do you know how old that makes you?” Natasha asks, and there’s definite teasing in her voice now.

Barnes asks, “What year is this?” because he doesn’t know, and when she tells him _2014_ , he does the math in his head. “I’ve been alive for 97 years.”

It sounds so insane. He doesn’t feel like he’s been alive for that long; he hasn’t, he supposes. Living and existing are different things.

Natasha grins at him. “You’re 97 and Steve’s –”

“Ninety-six,” he says instantly, reflexively.

Natasha’s eyes are bright. “Well, in July. He’s 95 for a few more days.”

“July… 4th.”

The Soldier only remembers seeing that date on the exhibit after he’s already said it.

Natasha gives a breathy laugh. “Captain America was born on July 4th... You should bring that up to Sam, when you see him later. It’ll make him laugh, does every time. Trust me.”

She asks him if he has parents (no) and if he’s human. To that he says, “Possibly.”

They get a little more serious when she asks him, again, if he remembers anything that happened before he fell off the train. He tells her that he remembers a man named Zola, that he saw him after the fall and, maybe, before it. She asks him if he remembers the war. He doesn’t.

When Sam gets in, before he can say anything, Barnes tells him what Natasha suggested.

“Captain America was born on July 4th.”

Even he can recognize the absurdity of the sentence.

Sam stares at him, comprehending, and then he lets out a loud, startling laugh. He apologizes and tries to calm himself, saying “ _That’s never not funny._ ” It takes him a little while to compose himself, but when he does, the air feels lighter.

“So, Barnes, why haven’t you been sleeping? You need the rest.”

He breathes, wishes he could move his hands. “It’s harder to control my thoughts when I’m sleeping.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Nightmares happen either way, man, and sleep can help clear your mind. If you get at least 6 hours a day for the rest of the week, I’ll work my magic and get you into the gym. Deal?”

Barnes grunts.

He has a nightmare when he sleeps that night, but it’s different. There isn’t any blood or snow or falling. No, this time he sees the broken face of the blond man, watches him give up, hears him say _I’m with you, till the end of the line._

The Soldier kills him.

He’s sweating and gasping with wide eyes when he wakes up.

When he sees Natasha, he asks about Steve.

Natasha looks perplexed, though she nods. “He’s fine. Why?”

“I just,” he swallows, “I had a… dream.”

She’s curious. “About what?”

“I killed him, on the helicarrier.”

She considers him – his expression and his words. “You didn’t. He’s on a mission, actually. Maybe he’ll stop by tomorrow.”

She goes through the questions as per usual.

“What’s your name?”

“Barnes.”

“Do you know when you were born?”

“1917,” he answers, factually this time.

“Do you have parents?”

“No.”

“ _Did_ you have parents?”

He thinks. He was created by HYDRA, but what about before? Where did he come from?

Natasha’s mouth quirks slightly. “So you have a name, a year you were born, and you think you probably had parents. Wouldn’t that make you human?”

He can’t bring himself to say yes.

Natasha tries to ask him about the war again. He has no answers.

When Sam comes in later, he’s got a bag. Barnes eyes it suspiciously, fully alert.

Sam smiles, says, “You’re gonna start knitting, remember? Just to let you know, this bag contains a lot of colorful thread and sharp needles. We trust you not to hurt anyone with them, including yourself. If that’s a problem then let me know before I leave them in your hands, okay?”

Sam does most of the talking, telling him that they’ll be giving him food other than fruit and water soon, and then going on a tangent about how he thinks Barnes is probably dying for some meat. Barnes listens but his mind is too preoccupied with erasing violent thoughts about using needles to escape. He tells Sam that he thinks he can handle sharp objects, so the bag is left sitting by the door. His restraints unlock, courtesy of JARVIS, and after a moment of staring holes through the plastic, he sticks his hands inside and carefully pulls out the soft balls of yarn.

There are several colors – blue, red, yellow, green, white, black. There’s a book, too, so he takes that out and skims through it before he even acknowledges the needles. Knitting looks a lot harder than he thought it’d be, but a voice in his head says _piece a cake_ , so he decides to give it a try.

It doesn’t start off very well. The needles fit perfectly in his hands, could be weapons so easily, could sink into the skin of whoever comes to his room next if he used enough force, but _no_. He’ll knit, not kill.

Maybe these people really are helping him.

And JARVIS helps too, by pulling up instructional videos. Barnes is kind of amazed by the whole thing.

He falls asleep with yarn on his chest.

__________________________________________

He doesn’t dream that night, but he does wake up early. Sleepily, he resumes trying to figure out how to knit, stops to eat his breakfast (fruit and water, like all the other days he’s been here), and then goes back to knitting. He gets frustrated when he can’t get it straight away – he always gets everything quickly – but JARVIS informs him that he’s doing just fine for a beginner. 

Barnes wants his confiscated rubber band back because his hair keeps falling into his face. He also wants to get cleaned up, something he hasn’t done since staying at the motel. He feels bad about _wanting_ still, but it’s different.

He stops trying to knit when he’s restrained and escorted to meet with Natasha. He answers the same questions until she brings up something new.

“Do you remember where you grew up?”

He sees flashes of yellow in his mind sometimes, sees a few tall buildings, streets crowded with men in suits and women in dresses. The museum mostly contained information about things that happened during the war and anything before that was very vague, so he has no outside help and has to rely on the fragments of his memories.

“Maybe a city,” he guesses.

“What do you remember about it?”

He thinks of something he remembered before. “There were rides, one time. Someone got sick.”

“You’re adamant about knowing Steve, but do you remember him? You were friends growing up.”

All he remembers, right now, are flashes of blond hair and blue eyes and some scrawny guy sick in bed. He relays these thoughts, attempting to keep his emotions in check. He can’t offer her much else.

Barnes knits while he waits for Sam. He discovers that it isn’t so hard, but that he’s not as good as the people in the videos. He asks JARVIS to stop playing them, wants to figure it out on his own.

He doesn’t know what exactly he’s making with the blue yarn, but he keeps at it, throwing himself into it so his mind can’t flit around to violent and angry thoughts. It might be peaceful.

Barnes looks up when he senses someone standing outside the electric doorway. It’s the blond man and he watches with a small smile on his face. He nods to the Soldier’s hands.

“You like knitting?” he asks.

He shrugs.

“Sam says you’re calling yourself Barnes. Is it… can I call you that, instead of Soldier?”

Barnes takes a deep breath and looks away from his needles and yarn to stare at the Captain. He thinks maybe he feels that twinge returning, hears the word _mission_ … He thinks of Sam’s words: _You’re not part of HYDRA anymore, buddy. It’s time you learn to be your own man._

“Yes.”

The blond man’s relief is almost tangible.

“I’m not used to walking on eggshells around you and I don’t know what to do to help. You got any suggestions for me?”

Barnes blinks. “Do you have a rubber band?”

The blond man’s face creases with confusion. “I can get you one.”

He bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “Please,” he says, quietly, and the blond man starts to move instantly, calling out, “Be right back!”

He reappears minutes later with a rubber band in his hand. “I got it from Natasha,” he explains as he types the code into the keypad and enters the room. Barnes stays still as the blond man comes over, holding it out carefully for him to grab.

“Thanks,” he mutters, because it feels like the right thing to do, and then he pulls his greasy hair back. The blond man’s eyes dart all over him.

“You wanna get cleaned up?”

Barnes follows the blond man at a safe distance, trying harder than ever to suppress his orders to kill. They don’t go very far, thankfully. A door only a few feet away from his is pushed open to reveal a bathroom.

The blond man steps inside first, looking all around. “You can use whatever soap you want. There’s a razor in there too…” The unspoken _please don’t use it as a weapon_ is still heard. “Towels are on the rack in the corner. Ask JARVIS if you need anything else. I’ll get you some clean clothes, and sorry we didn’t think about this earlier. I guess, with so much going on – um, I can wait in your room, if you want.”

It’s hard, but Barnes says “No” and the blond man, though looking crestfallen, nods and tells him to have a good night.

Barnes still showers under freezing water, but he scrubs his hair this time. He likes the way the shampoo smells.

He shaves, very carefully, trying to stop his hands from shaking. JARVIS doesn’t inform him that there are a clothes waiting outside the door until the razor is safely put back into the drawer. Barnes is surprised to see the man called Tony ( _Stark_ , part of him hisses, making him feel ill) waiting, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Hey, Robo,” he says with ease. “Long time, no see. How’re you liking your stay?”

“It’s tedious,” Barnes supplies while pulling his hair back into a messy half-bun.

The goateed man scoffs, looking offended. “Well, yeah, ‘cause you’ve been in solitary confinement. You’ll experience the true wonders once you’re on probation – which should be soon, by the way. I’ve heard good things. Mostly.”

“Want me to take a look at your metal?” Tony then asks, after a brief pause. Barnes instinctively reaches to touch it with his flesh hand. “Hey, I’ll be gentle with it! Tech is kind of my thing, isn’t that right, JARVIS?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Tony grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “It’s shiny. I like shiny. And, don’t get me wrong, it’s probably pretty decent hardware, but nothing compares to what I can do.”

Barnes turns away from him and starts a slow pace back to his room. If being in there means being away from this man then he’ll take it.

“Someone needs to warm that cold shoulder,” he mumbles from behind. “I heard your using my gym tomorrow, Freezer Burn.” Barnes looks back at him once he’s inside his room. “Try to keep the floor intact. I’ve had it replaced twice already.”

The information makes Barnes tilt his head. With one last winning smile, Tony leaves and the alarm system goes back online.

__________________________________________

It’s quiet and Barnes knits until he falls asleep. His dreams are of a blond man falling through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ways to go // grouplove
> 
> the slow-going process continues


	7. a crown of gold, a heart that's harder than stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes lies limp on the floor with his eyes wide, staring up at the ceiling as the music stops. From the corner of his eye he can see Steve struggle to get up. Sam is at his side, but Tony lingers, watching from a distance. Once Sam helps the Captain up, he offers a hand to Barnes with concern on his face. He takes the hand with his eyes focused on the ground. 
> 
> His actions make him feel ashamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In a dark room, we fight  
> make up for our love  
> I've been thinking, thinking about, about us  
> And we're moving slow  
> Our hearts beat so fast  
> I've been dreaming, dreaming about you, about us"
> 
> (chapter mentions music quite a bit. not sorry.)

Natasha is gone on a mission with the Captain the next day. Barnes eats when he wakes up and then starts knitting. He realizes that he’s making a hat. It doesn’t look like a hat, really. Not yet.

He tries to ignore the voice in his head that calls for someone’s blood by focusing on the drawl of, what he’s come to understand, Bucky. He keeps singing a stupid song about rainbows. He makes a note to ask Sam about it.

When Sam comes in and sees the Soldier knitting, he grins. “Hey, man, good job! What’s it gonna be?”

“A hat,” Barnes says, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his face. “I don’t know why.”

Sam chuckles. “Well, maybe you can give it to someone. People like gifts, you know?”

Sam leads Barnes into the elevator and they go up. The whole floor is pretty much open, save for a few rooms and different spaces sectioned off for various activities. He sees the circular running area off to the side.

Sam insists that they stretch first. He shows Barnes how to, but also lets him try it on his own while he tells him about his daily runs in DC. He tells him that’s how he met Steve.

Barnes gets a flash of something. It’s hard to understand but he thinks he sees children on a street, fighting – ganging up on a small boy.

He shakes it off.

Sam says he’s just going to jog a little but encourages Barnes to go at his own pace, slow or fast or somewhere in between, it doesn’t matter. Whatever makes him feel good. He asks JARVIS to play his personal playlist and Barnes understands that the other man sounds excited to talk about the singer, who he calls Marvin Gaye. He says that the song (which goes, _Remember the day you set me free; I told you, you could always count on me. From that day on, I made a vow; I’ll be there when you want me, someway, somehow_ ) is called “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.”

He doesn’t say that it makes him feel a little better or that it makes him want to run instead of jog, but he thinks Sam, who looks a little smug, probably knows.

They jog for a while, with Barnes lapping Sam even at their slower pace, until Sam decides to sit down on a blue mat and call for JARVIS to play specific songs, moving his upper body while they play. Barnes runs a little faster and doesn’t stop until Sam asks him to.

“You’re makin me tired just lookin at you. Damn super-soldiers, _man_.”

“Tomorrow you’re gonna start eating some real food,” he promises when they walk back to the room. He’s too wound up to sleep for a while but when he finally does, it’s dreamless.

__________________________________________

Natasha and the Captain are still gone the next day.

Barnes eats toast with his fruit and drinks milk instead of water. He knits until Sam arrives to take him to the gym.

The two jog with Marvin Gaye playing in the background and while Sam tries valiantly to keep up, he ends up stopping to sit and catch his breath. And then the music abruptly stops before switching to something else. It’s a rough and lingering, with several beats and crashes and bangs, and it makes him stop and tense up, ready for a fight at first. But then he listens for a moment, recognizes a beat, hears a high male voice start singing words, and he relaxes.

It’s then that Tony Stark walks in, cheeky grin on his face. Sam shakes his head when Tony stops in the middle of the room, moving his arm and leg in a way that’s supposed to mimic playing a guitar. Barnes doesn’t know it and just thinks he looks silly.

“Sorry, boys, but the Metal Man needs something a bit heavier,” Tony tries to say above the noise.

Sam leans back on his arms and asks, “Which Metal Man? You or Barnes?”

Tony rolls his eyes and turns around, still moving with a beat he clearly knows as if he were playing it himself.

Barnes listens to the words he can actually make out.

_‘Cause I shoot to thrill and I’m ready to kill and I can’t get enough and I can’t get my fill. ‘Cause I shoot to thrill, play it again…_

It’s quiet when the song ends, leaving only the sound of Sam and Tony arguing about music and who is better at teaching such an important subject to the geriatric friends.

Barnes interrupts them with a question. “What was that?”

Tony lights up. “That, my friend, was the best of music. AC/DC.”

“I liked it,” Barnes admits.

Tony yells a gleeful “HA!” as Sam rolls his eyes. “Hey, you’ve got one geezer and I’ve got the other. It’s only fair,” Tony says to Sam, and then he strolls over to Barnes with his hands in the air. “You have taste.”

“Can you play it again?” Barnes asks, maybe a little shier than any of them expected. He’s not used to _asking_ for things, but Tony doesn’t mind. In fact, he seems delighted.

“JARVIS, repeat Shoot to Thrill.”

Jarvis does.

Barnes runs dents into the floor. Tony doesn’t care one bit.

__________________________________________

When Barnes wakes up in the morning, yarn strewn about his bed, it’s because food is placed on the table.

“I hear Tony’s won you over with AC/DC,” Natasha says by way of greeting. It’s the first time they’re meeting in his room. She smiles, eyes flicking to his messy pulled back hair. “Being active helps, huh?”

“Yeah,” Barnes says quietly. “I was told you were on a mission.” Natasha nods as she sits, humming her confirmation. “You’re okay,” he states. She watches him with a tilted head. “He was with you.”

“Not a scratch on him,” she says teasingly, but her eyes are serious and Barnes doesn’t know why it makes him feel better, why he even cares. “What’s your name?”

“Barnes.”

“Do you know when you were born?”

“1917.”

“Do you or did you have parents?”

“Probably.”

“Are you human?”

“I think so.”

She writes his last answer down.

“How have you been since our last chat?”

Barnes tells her that he’s been fine, as if he knows what the word means. She asks him what he’s been up to, already knowing, but he tells her anyways; knitting, running, talking with Sam. She tells him that this is progress and that he should be proud. She also tells him that there will be bad days, too, and to expect them, to not be discouraged by them.

He tucks her words away in a place that he can find before any future anger can destroy them.

He knits, like always, because there isn’t anything else _to_ do in this room, before Sam comes.

When the two of them enter the gym, they aren’t alone. Stark is there, sitting on a leather chair. The blond man is there, too. He’s attacking a punching bag until it breaks, deflates and falls to the ground. Tony makes a snarky comment that gets the blond man to smile, even if only for a moment.

The two look up when Sam and Barnes enter. Tony is immediately welcoming, telling Barnes that he’s got a playlist _full_ of AC/DC and that he expects a thumbs up or down after every song. The blond man says “hey” to Sam, who replies back happily, and then he nods to him.

Barnes heads towards the running area and Tony tells JARVIS to start the music.

The song starts off with light beats before the guitar comes in with a specific rhythm. Barnes likes the sound of it already, even before the man’s voice comes in.

_Back in black, I hit the sack, I been too long I’m glad to be back; yes I am let loose from the noose that’s kept me hanging about._

When the song is over, Barnes, still running, gives Tony a thumbs up with his metal hand, of all things, and it makes the goateed man crack up laughing.

It also makes the blond man turn to watch him run for a while longer.

Tony plays another song that he calls Highway to Hell ( _No stop sign, speed limit, nobody’s gonna slow me down. Like a wheel, gonna spin it, nobody’s gonna mess me around. Hey Satan, pay my dues, playin in a rockin band. Hey momma, look at me, I’m on my way to the Promised Land)_. Barnes likes this one, too. Sam insists that he stop running halfway through it take a rest, so he does, drinking water and listening intently to the music drifting through the air.

Tony waits to play the next song.

Barnes notices the blond man approaching him and he tenses slightly, turning half away.

“Can we share the track?” he asks conversationally, trying to keep the hope out of his voice so that Barnes doesn’t feel as if he’s expected to say yes.

“Okay.”

Barnes shoots off faster than before and the blond man takes it competitively, moving to catch up. The fast opening of Thunderstruck plays in the background.

_I was caught in the middle of a railroad track, looked around and I knew there was no turning back._

The song makes him run even faster, trying to shake the blond man who has already nearly caught up.

_My mind raced and I thought what could I do, and I knew there was no help, no help from you._

Barnes throws a fist out at the blond man when he starts to pass him, lands a punch on a huge bicep. The Captain looks at him harshly, speeding up to get past more violence, but he follows and jumps, throwing a kick to the back of the Captain’s legs. It makes him fall, but he tucks into a roll and pops back up onto is feet. Barnes isn’t expecting to be tackled to the floor, so he panics when the heaviness of the blond man is suddenly holding him down. He tries to lash out but is blocked, then grunts and bares his teeth with a next strike that lands against the Captain’s chest.

“What’re we supposed to do?” he hears Sam yell above the music.

“Leave them to it?” Tony yells back.

The Soldier flips the Captain and throws his fist down, cracking the floor when the blond man’s head moves out of the way. He’s kicked up and into a wall and it takes a moment to get back up. He doesn’t get a chance.

The two struggle on the floor with the music loud above them. “Bucky!” the blond man yells, and that’s when the Soldier flings his metal fist at him, hard, right against his target’s mouth. The blond man falls to the side and Barnes freezes.

His mind is frenzied, filled with images of a small man being hit repeatedly in back alleys. It’s clear, for a moment, that he never hurt the Captain, the blond man, _Steve_ , until after his fall, and that it’s all he’s been doing since.

_You’re supposed to protect him, you jackass._

Barnes lies limp on the floor with his eyes wide, staring up at the ceiling as the music stops. From the corner of his eye he can see _Steve_ struggle to get up. Sam is at his side, but Tony lingers, watching from a distance. Once Sam helps the Captain up, he offers a hand to Barnes with concern on his face.  He takes the hand with his eyes focused on the ground.

His actions make him feel ashamed.

“I’m sorry.” The words fly out of his lungs, breathy for too many reasons. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

The room seems to freeze. Steve looks at Barnes with bloodied, parted lips, blue eyes full of emotion.

“I know, Buck,” he says. It’s so soft that it makes something in the Soldier’s mind break.

“Shit,” he curses with his eyes shut tight to keep the tears from spilling. They do anyway. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The floodgate’s have been opened and he’s crying now, harder than he can ever remember crying – and for some reason he _does_ remember it, one time, over a bed that was filled with a pale kid on the brink of death. Barnes drops forward, falling onto his hands and knees, and his metal fingers dig holes into the floor.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve chokes out, not even hesitating to drop down next to him.

Barnes feels hands on his shoulders, sliding down his arms until fingers circle his wrists. They force his hands off of the floor and into his own lap, and then he’s yanked backwards, crushed against a broad, warm chest with a nose buried in his messy hair.

He lets himself be held by an old friend.

__________________________________________

He doesn’t say anything after he’s escorted to his room. He hears the Captain trying to argue with Natasha and Sam about staying or leaving, but they plead with him to come back the next day. Barnes sits on the bed and does nothing for a while, but then his shaky hands reach for his yarn and needles and the nearly half finished hat, and his focus is on nothing but his work.

He sleeps fretfully for a couple of hours and has his recurring nightmare about blood and snow. He sees Steve’s scared face, hears him desperately shouting _Bucky, grab my hand!_

He wakes up feeling numb.

Natasha is silent, cautious of his fragile state. She wants to tell him that what happened might be a breakthrough, but doesn’t because no one needs their pain to be trivialized like that. She doesn’t ask him any questions, just sits and watches him for a while, glimpsing at the emotions underneath his blank exterior. She puts a hand on his face when she gets up to leave and whispers something to him in Russian.

Little Star. It might be familiar.

Sam is more subdued, too. He takes him to the gym, asks him how he’s doing while they stretch. Barnes doesn’t answer, which Sam doesn’t like, so he tries again.

“We can talk about it,” he says, “or something else. But you gotta talk, man. You can’t shut down.”

“Is Steve mad?” he asks, and it is _Steve_ now.

“No,” Sam assures him.

Barnes thinks he should be.

Sam plays Marvin Gaye as the jog.

Later, he knits and eats the sandwich that was left for him, and then he sleeps.

__________________________________________

When he wakes up, he asks JARVIS if he can take a shower. A man called Barton escorts him to the bathroom after he eats.

Barnes washes his hair under the freezing water, shaves, and then brushes his teeth. It feels too normal.

“Got clothes out here for you, Barnes,” Barton calls gruffly through the door.

He gets dressed and then steps out into the hallway, watching his escort quietly. Barton clears his throat, looking a little awkward. He watches the man rub his neck, allowing his fingertips to stray to the arrows in the quiver on his back.

“So you were HYDRA’s puppet,” he says dryly. “Hmm… know what that’s like. Not with HYDRA, but – yeah.” He starts to lead the way for Barnes, slowly, keeping the Soldier in his peripheral at all times. “It’s an honor to meet another World War II vet,” he says this time.

Barnes startles a little. He’s never thought of himself that way before.

“I can’t remember it,” he tells him honestly.

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t there,” Barton replies. And then, when he’s back in the room, the archer comments, “Cool arm, by the way. Bet Stark’s itching to take a look.”

Barnes can feel his lips twist a little; it’s not quite a smile, but Barton gets it. The shorter man gives a salute before he goes and that, too, feels familiar.

“You look refreshed,” Natasha remarks when she sees him, and then in the same breath, she says, “Tell me about what happened between you and Steve in the gym.”

The Soldier tenses. “I hurt him. Again.”

“What was different this time?”

“I remembered…” Barnes pauses. His face scrunches up. “The museum said he was smaller… I remember him being smaller. Was he?”

He looks to Natasha for the final confirmation. She nods.

“I punched him and I remembered that he used to get into a lot of fights that he couldn’t win. I never hurt him, before,” Barnes says in a strained voice. “I knew him. I _know_ him. I don’t _want_ to hurt him.”

Natasha gives him a bright, closed-lip smile. “Good,” she tells him. “That’s really good.”

He hopes it is.

“Hey,” Sam says when he arrives to take Barnes to the gym. He looks up from his knitting to see the other man shaking a greasy bag. “Got us some food. We can eat before we run, c’mon.”

They sit on one of the mats and eat burgers and fries. Barnes is surprised by how much he likes it and how fast he eats. Sam offers to share some of his food, but Barnes declines. He’s finishing up when Tony waltzes in, black splotches covering his hands and bared arms, as well as smoke residue staining his face. There are goggles atop his head.

“I’ve heard stories about your lab explosions, Stark, but dang, what happened?” Sam asks with a laugh.

Tony huffs. “There was a minor miscalculation.”

“What’d you miscalculate?”

“ _I_ didn’t,” Tony defends. “Dum-E did.”

“You rebuilt him?” a new voice says from the doorway. They all look up to see Steve walking in, wrapping his hands up in preparation to box.

“Yeah, like a long time ago, which you would know if you ever dropped by.”

Steve smiles softly at Tony, and then he looks at Barnes, asks, “Is it okay if I’m in here? I can come back later –”

“It’s fine,” he says quickly. He doesn’t know how to make amends – doesn’t know when he decided that he _wanted_ to – but he’ll try, somehow.

Steve nods, and then he turns his head and sniffs the air. “It smells like a fast-food joint in here.”

Sam chuckles. “We had a little treat.”

“And you didn’t share?” Tony clucks his tongue. “I’m in the mood for pizza. Anyone else in the mood for pizza?”

“I could eat,” Steve says as he treks over to the punching bag.

“Good. JARVIS, ask anyone who’s in the building if they’re in the mood for pizza, and then order accordingly, plus extra.”

Barnes feels like he wants to laugh, but he holds it in and heads towards the indoor track, ignoring the dents that have yet to be fixed.

“AC/DC?” Tony asks casually, but Barnes can tell that he’s only asking because of the outburst one of the songs caused last time. Barnes gives him a thumbs up.

He plays Shoot to Thrill again because he knows Barnes likes it, and because, ironically, the lyrics don’t trigger him.

Barnes runs with Sam for a while, then by himself, and then he finds that Steve has taken a (distant) spot by his side. Barnes can’t ever remember feeling content, but he thinks it must be what he feels now.

“Bet you can’t tell _him_ ‘on your left’,” Sam calls over the music. Barnes doesn’t know why it makes Steve laugh, but it does, and that makes him want to smile.

When he’s in his bed that night with his hair pulled back and his hands working on his hat, he asks JARVIS if he knows a song about rainbows, explains, with some embarrassment, that he’s heard it in his head several times and doesn’t know what it’s from. JARVIS guesses which song he means, informs Barnes that “perhaps you heard it upon release in 1939.”

It sounds different than when it was just in his head, but it’s the same song. He listens while he knits.

__________________________________________

“What’s your name?”

“Barnes.”

“Do you know when you were born?”

“1917.”

“Did you have parents?”

“Yeah.”

Natasha leans to the side, tapping her pen against the desk. “When did you remember that?”

“Last night,” he tells her. “When I was knitting, I remembered that my mom made me a really terrible scarf one time and...”

“And?” she asks with a raised brow and a tiny smirk on her lips.

“I think I gave it to Steve.”

He sees Natasha shake with laughter.

“Are you human?” she asks, humor still in her voice. “I think you’re human.”

His eyes catch on his metal arm for a moment before he glances down to the flesh of his bare forearm. “Must be,” he says, and it’s an answer that gets written down.

Barnes knows Natasha chooses to keep the conversation and the questions light because of the ‘good’ mood he’s in. He silently thanks her.

“Hey, how’s your hat going?” Sam asks on their way to the gym. Barnes pushes a few strands of hair behind his ears and rolls his metal shoulder.

“I’m almost finished,” he announces, and Sam gives him a wide grin.

“You like it, huh?”

Barnes shrugs, though he knows that he does, and focuses on constricting the plates in his arm. Sam’s allowing him to box today. He mentions that Natasha’s interested in sparring with him, whenever that time comes.

Tony strolls into the gym again, eyes gleaming with excitement as he watches the metal arm at work. He punches straight through the bag by accident.

Barnes grunts, says, “Sorry,” but Tony is clapping like a child.

“I’ve got plenty lined up, Soldier. You’re being a tease, by the way. I’ve been waiting for you to invite me over for some casual convo and a brief inspection.”

“He’s been salivating,” Natasha says dryly as she enters the room. Barton follows her in.

Tony shrugs, digging his hands into his pockets. “It’s a hobby.”

“It’s an obsession,” Barton says with a snicker.

“What’s an obsession?” It’s Steve that speaks this time, pushing through the doors, too.

Barnes feels a little anxious at the sudden influx of people. He tries to breathe through his nose and out through his mouth to keep calm. He surprised to notice that Tony’s keeping a watchful eye on him.

“Stark and metal,” Barton says to Steve.

“It’s a fetish,” Natasha pipes in, and Tony rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

“You’d think you’d be a little nicer to the guy who lets you use his gym. And his kitchens. And his bathrooms,” Stark starts, clearly ready and able to keep going until Barton jumps back in.

“Yeah, places and things you never use anyway.”

Tony makes a show of turning his body. “I’m standing here, right now. Your name’s Hawk _eye_.”

“Settle down, kids,” Sam says, and Tony laughs.

“You’ve been hanging out with Old Man Rogers way too much.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but doesn’t get a chance to.

“Yeah, right,” Barnes snorts. “Steve went _lookin’_ for trouble as much as he tried stoppin’ it.”

They’re all looking at him with different controlled expressions, silent for a little too long to be considered a normal reaction. Barnes, however, is the most shocked; he doesn’t even know where those words came from let alone why he said them.

It’s Tony who breaks the silence. “Now _that_ ’s hard to believe.”

“Tony, you don’t know half the things we got up to back then,” Steve says, and then suddenly they all start talking at once, laughing and demanding to know what straight-and-narrow Rogers could have done back in the 30’s and 40’s.

“Lemme guess – Back in my day, we used to hit baseballs through windows and steal packs of bubblegum. Am I close?”

“Are you gonna tell us some war stories?” Sam asks. “I think you’re gonna tell us some war stories.”

Steve snorts, opens his mouth, but then his eyes land on Barnes and he hesitates. “There were a few good times with the Commandos,” he says carefully. “Most of the trouble I got into was before Erskine’s serum.”

“Back alley brawler,” Barnes mumbles. They don’t pause like they did before, to their credit. Steve even smiles this time.

“Tell us the one about the USO shows,” Barton demands, and Natasha groans, embarrassed for him.

“Why does no one mention Cap’s fetish for spandex?” Tony interrupts, and then Steve is trying to explain that he didn’t have a choice in the matter and all Barnes can think is _you’re keeping the outfit, right?_

They break off into their own conversations after a few minutes, and then Natasha and Barton move to the other side of the gym to begin sparring. Steve leaves to get Barnes a new punching bag and offers to show him a way to control his strength so that he won’t punch through the bag again, even though he says that he can’t help it sometimes and assures him that it’s okay if it happens.

He follows Steve’s lead for a while before realizing that Tony hasn’t set up any music; probably because he’s trying to explain something to Sam, who _insists_ that he’ll understand after a few more explanations.

“JARVIS,” Barnes asks hesitantly. He can feel eyes on him and knows that Steve, Tony, and Sam are watching, knows that they’re surprised by him addressing the AI.

“Yes, Mr. Barnes?”

“Could you play that song from last night?”

“Certainly, sir,” JARVIS says, and then the song starts to play. Tony _giggles_ ; Natasha and Barton freeze, turning to look at him. Sam’s face doesn’t change, thankfully, but Steve’s does and his smile is blinding and it makes Barnes feel warm inside.

“What?” Barnes asks defensively, feeling insecure about the sudden attention.

“Of course,” Tony says with pure amusement. “Of _course_.”

“You remember that song?” Steve asks, and he looks so happy.

Barnes shrugs. “I heard it in my head a few times, asked JARVIS what it was. He said I probably knew it from 1939.”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly, a nostalgic look in his eye. “It’s from the Wizard of Oz. You remember it?” Barnes shakes his head no. “You never used to like it,” Steve explains.

Bucky furrows his brows. “I didn’t?”

“You took me to the show and teased me for a week about enjoying it. I caught you singing the song a few times, but you insisted that it was just stuck in your head.”

“He didn’t like the movie?” Natasha asks, moving closer to the group again.

Steve shrugs, makes an ‘ _eh’_ sound. “I think he did more than he let on, but the movie he really liked was Modern Times.”

“Charlie Chaplin?” Tony questions, though it sounds more like he knows he’s right and just wants confirmation of it.

“Yeah,” Steve replies jovially. “You like Chaplin?”

Tony shrugs. “Good performer.”

Steve turns his attention back to Barnes. “You remember Modern Times?”

Barnes doesn’t.

“Hey, what about Snow White?” Barton asks, and this makes Tony snort with laughter again. He tries to cover it up with a cough when Barton glares.

Steve’s face looks like it might split from all the smiling he’s doing. “Yeah, we saw that one. Snuck in, actually.”

Barnes raises and eyebrow.

“Hold up,” Sam says with surprise. “You snuck in to see a Disney movie?”

Steve gives a little shrug, looking more restrained but still in good spirits. “We didn’t have a lot of money.”

“You see Frankenstein?” Sam inquires next.

“Yeah – Frankenstein, Scarface, Flash Gordon. We were always at the show. Got kicked out a few times,” he reminisces with a chuckle, “but they let us back in.”

Natasha gives them a little smile, focusing in on Barnes, knowing his anxious feelings. 

“I… don’t remember.”

Steve lets out a heavy breath but doesn’t look very upset. It’s not a sudden revelation; they all know he can’t remember. They know that sometimes he tries to and that sometimes he doesn’t even bother.

“Yeah, it’s been a few years,” Steve says, like that’s all it is – like Barnes can’t remember, not because of his brainwashing and his torture, but because it’s just been awhile.

Tony makes a noise. “It’s been more than a few years.”

“Not for me,” Steve replies, and he’s serious this time. His jaw is set and his eyes are no longer playful, and Barnes can see that the blond man is struggling more than he lets on. He feels guilt about that. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he says then, scratching at his head awkwardly.

“You got any pizza left, Stark?” Barton asks out of nowhere, not-so-subtly changing the subject. Tony’s attention is immediately on the archer.

Barton and Tony make their way out of the gym with the latter calling out a request for Barnes to come see him sometime. Natasha stays, challenging Sam to spar with her, and even though Sam insists he doesn’t have a death wish, he says he’d like to learn a thing or two and she happily obliges. Steve goes back to punching his own bag some feet away.

“JARVIS,” Barnes starts, his voice a little hoarse, but the AI already knows what he’s about to ask.

After a couple of songs (and a few punching bags), Sam asks breathily from the floor if they can switch the music up. Barnes gives a nod.

“Trouble Man?” Steve asks hopefully, and Sam grins.

“Trouble Man.”

“I get next pick,” Natasha declares before JARVIS plays more Marvin Gaye.

Barnes starts to box again, but he can see Sam coming closer slowly, grooving with the slow rhythm of the song. He doesn’t fully stop until he sees Sam closing in on Steve, who’s smiling again and shaking his head.

“Come on, man!” Sam says, spinning and snapping his fingers, bobbing his head and swaying his body to the music.

“I – I can’t dance,” Steve says, laughing with his palms splayed out.

“I _know_ you can’t dance, Cap, but don’t let that stop you. _Come on_.”

Steve hesitates, shakes his head, “Nah… no, _no_ ,” but then he’s laughing and attempting to imitate Sam’s moves. Barnes can barely take his eyes off the sight long enough to catch Natasha’s incredibly amused expression.

Steve bends his knees, sways, bobs his body and his head up and down in slow, rhythmic motions, mirroring Sam as well as trying out whatever he thinks could work.

“Oh, oh, _oh_ ,” Sam crows out encouragingly, trying to hold back his laughter when Steve starts snapping his fingers and turning around. “You got it, you got it!”

“Yeah?” Steve asks with hopeful tone. His expression says he knows he’s doing terrible but that he’s having a good time regardless. He looks so… _dorky_ , Barnes thinks (where did that word come from?) and he doesn’t even realize that he’s smiling until Natasha, appearing out of nowhere, brushes her shoulder against his.

He schools his expression quickly, but is unsure if Steve saw it anyway. He doesn’t know if he’s bothered by that or not.

The song winds down and Steve hangs his head bashfully while Sam tries to catch his breath. Embarrassment seems so strange on such a big man, but it’s endearing.

“Tell me I did not just see that,” Tony says suddenly, back from getting Barton his pizza. Steve looks exasperated.

“Were you standing outside the door?”

“Uh, yeah,” Tony says. “JARVIS, did you get that on tape?”

“I did, sir,” JARVIS replies, and Steve lets out a deflated sigh.

“Love you,” Tony says to his AI while strolling farther into the gym.

“Don’t you have important things to do, I dunno, somewhere _else_?” Steve asks, but his tone is purely teasing.

“I find that really terrible dance parties happen when I’m _not_ in the room, so.”

That’s all he says, as if its explanation enough. Maybe it is; Barnes doesn’t know, so he turns and starts punching the bag again and, true to her word, Natasha calls out to JARVIS, requesting a song called Optimistic by Radiohead.

_You can try the best you can, if you try the best you can, the best you can is good enough._

 “Hey,” Sam says once he wanders over from Steve. He stands a few feet away from the bag, just in case. “I’ve been here nearly every day since you got in, and I don’t mind it, but I’m gonna be taking a break for a week or so, catch up on stuff back in DC. You gonna be fine without me?” he asks Barnes, his tone playful, but his face is serious and he wants a real answer.

Of course he’ll be fine without Sam, he wants to say. The Winter Soldier never needed anybody, never cared if they were around… but he’s not entirely that man (weapon) anymore and, as much as he hates the feeling of being dependent on others, he knows he’ll be a little lost without Sam. Just the thought makes him feel disgusted.

He takes too long to answer and it worries Sam.

“Hey, Barnes…” He tries to say it soft enough so that anyone with good hearing, like Steve, can’t hear him, even with music playing and Natasha and Tony arguing over bands. “You’re doing really well, man – way better than I thought you would. I mean, I’ve never tried to help out a brainwashed ex-assassin before, but you’re making great progress.”

Barnes stops punching the bag once his fist goes through it. He pulls his hand out slowly, trying to curl his fingers and constrict the plates in his forearm. It only half works.

“I could kill you. Sometimes I think about it,” he admits quietly, his eyes trained on Sam’s unwavering face. “I’m half awake and I see things, and sometimes I feel like I did before _here_. It’s not progress. It’s repression.”

“Knitting, running, listening to music – it all makes you feel good, right? Talking, even when you don’t want to, makes life a little better. Recovery isn’t easy, Barnes, but repression is. You can push your thoughts and feelings down until you think you can’t feel ‘em anymore, but a lotta times they’re still there. HYDRA thought they forced the humanity outta you, but it’s still there, and you know it. You feel it. You _feel_. You wanted to kill me all the time, but now it’s only sometimes. _That’s_ progress… as twisted as it may seem. We helped you get on the right track, but it’s up to you to stay on it, and it’s up to you to figure out how to get through those twists and turns, ‘cause life’s not just one way, you know? You’re doing good. Let yourself have that.”

Sam is a sincere guy, kind of like Steve, Barnes thinks. Their belief and trust in him is unsettling.

“Tony’s got a guy coming in,” Sam continues after a few beats. “I’ve met him and he’s definitely good. Quiet, like you, and he’s got his fair share of problems. You’ll like him.”

“I don’t like anyone,” Barnes mutters, just because he doesn’t know what else to say and, right now, it’s kind of true.

It makes Sam laugh. “Awe, now I _know_ that’s not true. I think you’ve got a soft spot for some of the gang around here.”

It’s instinct to glance over at Steve. Sam notices and smiles to himself, but chooses to say nothing about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jungle // emma louise
> 
> songs mentioned in the chapter:  
> ain't no mountain high enough // marvin gaye  
> shoot to thrill // ac/dc  
> back in black // ac/dc  
> highway to hell // ac/dc  
> thunderstruck // ac/dc  
> somewhere over the rainbow // judy garland  
> trouble man // marvin gaye  
> optimistic // radiohead
> 
> this chapter was just everywhere and ugh. also, i'm very embarrassed about steve's dancing, but i had to do it.


	8. and it hurts to hold on, but it's missed when it's gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watches the man (Steve, a reverent voice supplies) with mixed emotions, the echo of mission poisoning his mind. He’s caught in between two different feelings, one the extreme of the other, and he feels like he just wants to collapse.
> 
> Steve jolts awake, more than likely from whatever dream he was having rather than the presence of the Soldier, but he senses it within moments and stiffens in the dark, sitting up slowly. He doesn’t look over to his shield, but Barnes knows he’s already calculating how instantaneous an attack will be compared to how fast he can lunge for protection.
> 
> Barnes, quite possibly for the first time, hopes the other part of his chaotic awareness, the Bucky part, can take on The Winter Soldier and win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Can I stay here? I can sleep on the floor  
> Paint the blood and hang the palms on the door  
> Do not think I'm going places anymore  
> Wanna see the sun come up above New York"
> 
> (I guess I should mention that there is a very brief mention of past attempted suicide in this chapter)

He has a nightmare. His body jolts awake, the images seeping out of his mind before he can even remember them, but the fear and the anger stay locked inside his bones. He punches another dent in the metal wall with his metal fist, and knits aggressively, stabbing his flesh fingers a few times without even noticing.

He knows it’s time to see Natasha after he eats the bowl of mush, but no one comes for him. It shocks him when he feels like he can’t breathe because it’s past time and no one’s around, not Natasha and not Sam, not even  _Steve_. He’s anxious because he’s  _alone_  for the first time since becoming trapped in this huge place and it’s sickening that there’s a fear of loneliness lingering in his brain. It has to be Bucky’s because it sure as hell isn’t  _his_ , and it wasn’t The Winter Soldier’s, either.

He misses the simplicity of that title, when it fully belonged to him. He knows, too, that in the darkest places of his mind, which is nearly all of it, he misses the pain, maybe even misses the killing. He –

He startles when a small looking man with a tiny, crooked smile and fluffy hair enters the room. He’s ringing his hands, looking a little nervous, but he’s there, standing by the door. Barnes has never seen him before, but his presence alleviates some of his nerves. At least he knows he hasn’t been forgotten.

He doesn’t know why that matters to him now.

“Hi,” the man says. “I’m Dr. Bruce Banner –” Barnes tenses automatically at the word  _doctor_. “I’m a scientist,” he continues, keeping his calm and observant eyes on the man who looks ready to pounce. “I, uh, I’m here to talk – or listen, really. I’m good at that.” His dark eyes travel to the chair and then slowly back to Barnes. “May I?”

Barnes gives a jerky nod and then turns half of his body away, keeping the metal out of the doctor’s sight. His fingers, which aren’t fully functional anymore, are digging into the blanket on the bed and his flesh hand is holding the nearly-finished hat with the needles, clear for the doctor to see.

 “You can call me Bruce,” the man says gently. “Is there a name you’d like me to call you?”

He grunts out his preference for Barnes. He can see in his peripheral that the doctor is smiling again, still soft and awkward.

“I’m curious,” he says after only a moment of silence, “about how you’re taking the stress?”

“Stress,” Barnes parrots.

Banner nods slowly, still rubbing his hands – an absent, habitual gesture. “Stress can mean a lot of things, you know. Mental and emotional strain, anxiety, difficulty with tasks and life in general… it’s all stress. PTSD is something you’re dealing with.”

Barnes knows the letters, hears his own voice echo them stiffly in his mind.

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Barnes says factually. “I don’t have a condition.” Doctor Banner watches him with an almost sardonic look. He feels his eye twitch. “I don’t get sick,” he shortly explains.

Banner clears his throat and leans forward slightly, hunching. “It’s not bacteria or a virus,” he says, still in the same quiet voice. “It’s a mental condition. Minds are different than the body. Steve has it, too.”

Barnes’s back goes as straight as a board on instinct.

“I’m a, uh, very anxious person. It never used to be this bad.”

“Why?” The word flies out of the Soldier’s mouth before he can stop it. He’s curious; doesn’t want to admit that it’s because he gets anxious sometimes, too, and he hates it.

Banner breathes in deeply and leans back again, dropping his clasped hands onto his lap. “It’s a long story and one I don’t really like to tell, but I think we might have some similarities.” He smiles tightly when he sees the dry half-smirk on Barnes’s lips, challenging. “I’m a scientist,” he says again. “I specialize in biochemistry, nuclear physics, and –” A pause. “Gamma radiation. I was recruited by the army for a project. Researching radiation resistance is what they told me. That, um, wasn’t exactly the truth. They wanted me to attempt the recreation of an experiment. I believe you know it,” Banner says, almost wryly. “Project Rebirth.”

Barnes does know it, can recall it being mentioned several times in the past.

“The army never stopped wanting Super Soldiers, but everything went under when Doctor Erskine died. Steve’s was the only successful transformation. They wanted to try with Bio-Engineering and Gamma radiation, so I took on the project, thought it was going really well, wanted to do a trial run on myself. It didn’t make me into a Super Soldier, it did something else.” He scratches at his face, says flatly, “I turn into a huge green rage monster. I call him  _the other guy_. People call him the Hulk. Whatever it –  _I_ am, when I change, I can’t get rid of it. I’ve tried, many times, in different ways…” He looks down at his hands nervously. “I tried cures. I tried to disappear. I tried to – see, I found out that I can’t even die by my own hand, the other guy won’t let me.” Banner leans forward suddenly, his eyes serious and concerned behind his square glasses. “Do you ever think of ending your own life?”

Barnes considers the question, repeats the words in his mind. He thinks about it, thinks about the pain he sometimes craves but fears at the same time. He tries to think of  _before_  – before HYDRA, before becoming The Winter Soldier.

“I don’t know if I ever have,” he admits. “I can’t remember… Maybe that means no.”

Banner nods and leans back again, crossing one leg over the other slowly. “I don’t think about it anymore,” he admits, too. “I was low and, for a long time, that was the only out I saw. But a couple of years ago I was brought in to trace the gamma radiation of something called the Tesseract when aliens invaded Earth, and I met Tony, and Steve and Natasha and Clint, and I helped save people  _as_  that monster. I’ve destroyed cities and I’ve killed people, by accident, maybe even on purpose, but I found out that I had enough control over myself to make something good out of a terrible situation. It’s still hard, it’ll always be hard, but it’s easier with the outlook I have now. It’s not about suppression anymore. Take control and embrace the changes in your life. At least, that’s what helps me.”

Barnes considers the words and tries to connect them to what’s been going on in his life. “They’re trying to fix me,” he says, and it makes him feel like a broken weapon.

“Is that what you want?” Banner asks with such sincerity that Barnes can’t help but be honest.

“Maybe. Sometimes I don’t, sometimes I do.”

Banner nods with understanding. “Do you _want_ to remember your past?”

“I think part of me does.”

There’s a wry smile on his lips now. “I know about that,” he tells Barnes. “Warring personas and alter egos. It’s rampant these days.”

Barnes looks away, towards his nearly finished hat, and twists his body into a better position, reaching his flesh fingers out absently to touch the yarn. Sometimes he doesn’t even know what to think.

Banner just sits quietly, gives a soft smile when Barnes looks up at him through strands of hair, as if asking for permission. He’s watched as he picks up his knitting project, watched as him moves the needles slowly, a little clumsily, but with overall efficiency. Barnes stays quiet and aware of Banner until he leaves with a small wave.

Banner doesn’t promise to come back, but Barnes knows he will.

He finishes the hat before his lunch is brought in by Clint. The archer asks him how he’s doing. Barnes answer shortly, doesn’t ask in return though he receives an answer anyway.

No one else comes in for the rest of the day so he stares at the wall, unmoving, with unintelligible whispers in his mind.

__________________________________________

There’s a warm kitchen in his dream. There’s a man with a newspaper and a woman with an apron by the stove, and he sees these people through his own perspective, can see a plate of food on a banged up table in front of him when he looks down. He can hear the woman say something to him; can hear other small voices in the background, though it all sounds like he’s under water and can’t quite make out the words. She leans down to kiss him, hands him a paper sack, and he checks it without thinking. There are two sandwiches and two apples and it pleases him.

Things shift around. It’s all blurry, road signs and small shops and kids holding books to their chests. A small boy with a split lip walks beside him, he can see the hair flop as they stride, and though he can’t hear what the other is saying, it makes him feel happy, maybe even proud, and then the blond boy, who wears a teasing smile, turns into a large blond man, but the smile is still there, still for him,  _always_  for him –

Until it’s not.

Barnes jolts awake and starts slamming his malfunctioning metal fist against the apparently unbreakable window. The urge to flee, to kill, to see the blond man, is there and overwhelming, but he doesn’t do any of the three. He doesn’t give pause until he hears Tony’s casual voice.

“You maybe wanna stop trying to break my house? I mean, at least until a reasonable time.”

Barnes, with his hair pretty much out of its low ponytail, turns to stare at Tony. He’s not stupid or trusting enough to come into the room when the Soldier is clearly unstable.

“What’s got you pouting?”

Barnes doesn’t know how to explain that he’s just  _upset_  – about everything, about nothing.

Tony rubs at his goatee, greasy fingertips staining his cheeks and his uncovered upper arms. It’s a sight that’s becoming normal.

Barnes punches the window again.

“It’s not gonna break.”

Barnes grits his teeth and punches  _again_ ,  _again_ ,  _again_. There are barely any cracks in it.

Tony taps his finger against the wall and watches the display with raised brows.

“Bored of knitting?”

Barnes leans back and kicks the window, hard, making him stumble when it doesn’t break. Despite this he grunts out, “I finished.”

He kicks again.

“Can I see it?”

“No.” Another punch.

Tony knows that Barnes isn’t going to get physically worn out anytime soon and that he’ll probably keep going until he  _does_  break the window, for whatever reason he’s decided on.

“Fine,” he says, shrugging even though the Soldier is not looking his way. “You want some whiskey?”

Barnes pauses, lets out a deep breath. He knows alcohol probably won’t have the same effect on him as it does on normal humans, though he can’t remember drinking it as proof. It’s just something he knows. He wants to try the whiskey.

Tony shuts off the system and ushers him out of the room and into the area with the television and the small bar in the corner.

“Take a seat,” Barnes is told as Tony maneuvers around the counter to grab two glasses and a bottle of amber liquid. Barnes carefully sits on the stool and grips the glass with his flesh hand when it’s placed down in front of him. He takes a swig, makes a face at the taste, but drinks it down easily. Tony pours him some more. “Bad dream?”

It wasn’t, not really. But…

“I didn’t like what I was seeing,” he tries to explain before downing more of the liquid until the clear glass is empty again.

“Which was?” Tony asks.

Barnes gives him a dark look and pushes his glass forward in a silent request for more.

“None of my business, right,” Tony murmurs, pouring what’s left of the bottle into his companion’s glass.

Barnes can see Tony staring at his metal arm and observes it, too, eyeing the loose plates and the half-bended fingers.

“Follow me?” Tony asks as he steps backwards, towards the elevator again. Reluctantly, Barnes does.

They end up in a room that’s very spacious and cluttered at the same time. There are a lot of tools and equipment, a lot of technology, bits and pieces of projects scattered around, but still somehow in their place. It’s a lab of sorts and that makes Barnes nervous, but it’s different enough from the ones he’s used to that he doesn’t immediately go for an escape.

He watches the goateed man instead.

Tony moves his hand in the air, swiping things around on a thin screen on his right, pulling at holographic images on his left. It’s strange to see, but he watches, almost enraptured by how far technology has come since he was first created.

  _NO_ , a voice tells him sternly;  _born_.

“Come on over, Slugger,” Tony says, barely twisting to motion Barnes over as he reaches out with his foot to pull a stool closer. Barnes sits on it stiffly and observes very carefully. “Put your arm here,” Tony instructs him, swiveling a device that looks oddly like a lamp closer to them.

Barnes sticks his metal arm under it and holds still, allowing Tony to swipe the blue light over the metal a few times, each with instructions to turn it a certain way. He can see the images of his arm show up onto the screen. Tony barely glances at them before he’s humming to himself and plopping down on his own stool with a tool in one hand and a holographic arm in the other.

Barnes watches the other man flip the hologram around and then swipe it away.

“Get rid of the shirt,” he says. Barnes does and Tony pulls the scanner over again and holds it over the shoulder where skin meets metal with old and jagged scarring in between. Only a few moments are wasted on viewing the images on the screen before he looks for a go-ahead nod and starts poking at him with a regular old screwdriver.

They sit in silence for a while with Tony unscrewing and yanking off plates as gently and efficiently as possible. It’s not long before what seems to be a whole layer of metal is gone and all he can see are compartments full of wires and switches and joints. He feels stripped to the bone, even though he has none there.

“It’s pretty good,” Tony says, almost under his breath in the quiet stillness of the lab, save for a few clicks and clatters of tools and metal and prodding. “Complex for a normal scientist, I guess…” He makes a face, like he’s pained. “Actually, this is way more complicated than I thought. Don’t get me wrong – I’ll have you fully operational in a few seconds, or minutes, gotta make sure I don’t pull any wires connected to your nerves, but I’ve never seen anything like it. That’s new for me.” He looks up then, as if expecting to get a response out of the Soldier. “How’d they do this back then, anyway? You remember?” He doesn’t give Barnes a chance to answer. “I mean, like I said, it’s pretty good –  _great_ , actually… the arm tech, not the procedure. You’ve got some nasty scar tissue there.”

He raps his knuckles lightly against the skin next to the metal, causing Barnes to flick his gaze down momentarily. It’s never really bothered him, unsure if it was supposed to.

“Coulda been avoided, all I’m saying. But I guess your boys at HYDRA were concerned purely with the finished product.”

Barnes picks up on the hint of uncontrolled anger in Tony’s voice. It’s… strange, to know that this man has feelings on his behalf.

It makes something like guilt flood his veins when he sees Howard Stark’s face in his mind, right next to Tony’s.

With a swallow and a lick of his dry lips, he says, hushed and strained as Tony pulls at wires, “Howard Stark was my mission.”

To Tony’s credit, he barely takes a pause. “That’s dear old Dad for you. What got him on HYDRA’s hit list?”

His tone tries to be casual, but there’s strain in it that suggests he doesn’t want to talk about it, to acknowledge his father, but will because he feels sorry for Barnes, or because he’s been running from his own problems for too long.

“I don’t know,” Barnes replies. “Past missions are hard to remember, and I never got all the information. He was a threat.”

“Why’d they call out the big gun?” Tony asks, trying to focus completely on rewiring the fingers.

“He was a threat,” Barnes repeats, only it sounds like the Soldier this time – and he doesn’t know when that really became a distinction to  _him_. “They needed the first attempt to be a success. I was their assurance.”

Tony taps his screwdriver against the arm and then pushes away abruptly, eyes on the screen.

“Tony?” he asks, and it’s only a question because he doesn’t know if he can call him that or not. But the goateed man whips his head around to look at him, his big brown eyes serious for the first time since he’s met him, and they stare at each other. When he tries to open his mouth, attempts to wrangle out the words  _I’m sorry_ , Tony smirks tightly, waves him off with nonchalance.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” he tells him with finality. “It’s water over the I-don’t-give-a-dam.”

Barnes doesn’t say anything more.

He watches Tony flit around the lab, hears him call out to JARVIS occasionally as he looks for tiny pieces of things he claims can improve the arm’s current condition. He doesn’t ask if Barnes is okay with his sudden urge to tinker, but part of him thinks that maybe this can be Tony’s way of forgiving him.

How strange it is that he even thinks of forgiveness.

“Hey, you wannna be able to shoot repulsor rays? That’s kind of  _my_ thing, but I can’t resist fixing up another man’s metal.” The smile he gives Barnes is so big and his eyebrows move up in what he believes is supposed to be a suggestive manner, and he feels the urge to laugh, maybe.

“No,” he tells Tony, perhaps with a bit of amusement in his expression because Tony only shrugs at the rejection.

Things move fairly quickly once Tony starts playing music and excitedly connects things to the wires and plates in his arm. He screws things together, welds things on with sparks flying into the air, and dips his fingers into oil so that he can rub the many joints in the complex prosthetic. It feels like less of a weapon when the eccentric goateed man is playing around with it, grinning like a child on Christmas morning.

JARVIS interrupts them at one point to inform Tony that the agents are concerned about where Barnes went to and then exasperated when they were told who he was with.

“Inform the good Doctor Banner to head on down here when he arrives,” he tells his AI companion.

And the Doctor does come in, his hands in his pockets and glasses perched onto his nose. He smiles awkwardly at the two, smiles a little wider when Tony’s face becomes as happy as a playful puppy.

“I hope you haven’t been talked into adding mini missile launchers to your person,” Banner says to Barnes, and Tony starts to babble about  _what a great idea_  that is, but is quickly shut down by narrowed-eyed looks.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he entered the lab, but it seems like quite a long time before he finally exits, rolling his shoulder to hear the familiar whir and constricting the plates like they were muscles. His fingers moved deftly, his elbow with perfect precision, and when he ran his flesh fingertips over the metal of his palm he was sure he had more sensitivity – not quite like skin, but better than before.

He pulls on his shirt, stepping out onto his floor (alone, for the first time; his mind hums in thought) and heads back through the threshold of his room. The electric shield does not go up behind him. He doesn’t leave anyway. Instead, he picks up his finished hat and stares at it, eyes snagging on all of the imperfections, and he sighs with resigned disappointment. Reaching for more yarn, black this time, he asks JARVIS if there are any tutorials on fingerless gloves. There are.

__________________________________________

“How long have I been here?” Barnes asks curiously the next morning. Natasha, with the file open and pen in hand, leans back in what appears to be a casual manner. He knows, though, that she’s ready to pounce at any moment if he becomes a threat.

“A couple of months?”

It surprises him, really, but he doesn’t show it.

“How long since the helicarriers?”

“Three months. You do know you can ask JARVIS for the date and time, right?”

He supposes it never occurred to him.

“What’s your name?”

He answers Natasha’s questions but nearly punctuates each one with a sigh. This earns him a questioning look.

“You seem frustrated.” Her tone is as dry as her expression.

 _Frustrated_ , a voice drones in his head. The voice tells him that he’s restless and he hates that  _it_ knows this before he does.

“Restless,” he tells her, because it feels more accurate.

“Why don’t you go running again? Sam doesn’t have to be around. I’d offer, but I think you’re getting sick of me.”

He doesn’t really have a desire to run anymore.

“Or,” she says suddenly, a glint in her eye. “We can spar.”

They enter the gym and head towards the mats with Natasha laying down rules as they go.

“Shoes off,” she instructs them, “and if you have any weapons, which you better not, throw them in the corner.”

He slips his boots off, doesn’t know why he even bothers to put them on to walk around his room or the hall, and stands still to show he has no weapons to dispose of.

“I’m not above pulling hair in the field,” she informs him, “but not here. I won’t touch yours if you don’t touch mine, okay?”

It’s only until he nods that she continues on, telling him that they don’t bite when they spar or gouge eyes or kick or knee the private areas. Any move that can kill (which is nearly every move with them) should be dumbed down until it barely even bruises. It’s about learning self-control as much as it is about letting off steam. After his talk with Banner, he thinks that maybe he could learn from this.

Barnes and Natasha move very similarly, so familiar to him but he doesn’t know why. They strike out fast and hard, flipping around each other and rolling away from hits. Natasha seems more agile, though; more willing to jump onto her opponent to choke or squeeze, or to use various gadgets meant for close combat. Barnes, or the Soldier, is fluid, but he’s heavier and taller and uses the power of his arm as well as the power of his enhanced body. It’s hard to tone down his style when all he’s used to is aiming for the kill, doing whatever’s necessary to finish his mission with success. Barnes knows that Natasha knows this, that he’s struggling to get his power under check, and that some of his hits could’ve seriously injured her if she hadn’t been so fast with her dodging. She attacks a little harder after the hits that are obviously too hard, forcing him to move even quicker than her.

Their combat goes from the mats to  _around_  the mats, and then to all around the gym. They chase each other, stalking and flipping out of the way, vaulting around weights, swinging on punching bags to knock the other down, and kicking off of walls to work their way back into the center of the room. He knows Natasha's getting tired, can see the way she slows down, just barely, but she’s too stubborn to quit the fight. They’ve both pinned each other several times and landed hits that were fit for battle rather than for sparring as the fight goes on, but it’s thrilling and it feels nice to not see blood.

Neither of them gives up. They only stop when Barton intervenes, before admitting he had been watching from the air vents the whole time. He tries not to show it, that he was clearly concerned for Natasha, who tries not to show that she needs a long moment to catch her breath. Barnes observes the way Barton speaks softly in her ear, making her grin and lazily kick her leg out, which he easily dodges. They’re close, anyone could see.

“Good job,” she tells him, her voice even huskier than usual due to her need for more oxygen.

“You keep up,” he replies. He had seen flashes during their sparring, but not enough to distract him. Now, however, he can see images of a young girl with long fiery hair flipping on and all around him, doing what he showed her, sometimes even better. He hesitates before he asks, “Did I… teach you?”

Barton looks between them, his eyes lingering on Natasha, who watches Barnes very carefully. There’s a long pause before she says, “Yes.”

He squints at her. After a long moment of thought, a clouded idea slots into place. “Natalia.”

She doesn’t respond. He doesn’t ask her anything else before he leaves.

__________________________________________

When Barnes dreams about leafing through snatched up sketchpads and ruffling blond hair, seeing the images like it was someone else’s life ( _it was,_ a harsh voice hisses) instead of his ( _it isn’t_ ), he decides that maybe he might need to see Steve because these ‘memories’ are so far from who he is that he’s starting to think they’re all fake.

Barnes pulls himself off the top of the blanket (he’s never slept under the covers, had only sometimes slept without his boots on – like tonight) and blinks a few times, correcting his blurry vision. He sees that there’s nothing blocking him from leaving his room tonight. How stupid, that they seem to trust him. How stupid that it matters to him.

Barnes moves without making a sound, creeping out of the shadows and into the dull moonlight being cast through the large windows. He tries to recall which floor was Steve’s, knows that Tony said it before;  _Cap’s a level below, Tasha’s a level above._

The elevator goes down one floor, but the doors stay shut and will only open with authorization. Bucky bristles a little at the programmed voice of JARVIS when he announces that Barnes has no authorization to be on this floor.

He could try forcing the doors open, but he supposes that wouldn’t work so well and would just cause unwanted attention. There has to be another way.

Barnes remembers Barton hiding in the vents. He lets the elevator take him to the gym.

Stepping into the gym means the lights automatically turn on, which startles him at first, but he moves quickly and silently, yanks the cover to the vent down without ripping it off its hinges, and flips himself up into the small space with a very light thud. Barton, who is smaller than him, probably fits better, but he shrinks himself down as much as he can and starts to shuffle forward. He has no idea which way he’s supposed to go, so it’s just trial and error, and after a few wrong turns and turnarounds and trying to army-crawl up the inclines, he spots a bedroom with the round shield lying out in the open.

He wonders if an alarm is going to go off when he slides through the vent and lands onto the floor like a cat.

It doesn’t.

Barnes watches the sleeping man in front of him with mixed emotions and suspicious eyes.

Seeing Steve sleep is strange and not at all like watching his unconscious body, waiting anxiously for him to breathe on the edge of the river. He wants to think he’s never seen it before, but he knows he has. Things were simpler when he believed he hadn’t.

The blond man doesn’t look entirely at peace when his limbs start to twitch under the thin blanket. Barnes thinks of what Banner had told him about Steve having PTSD… he has nightmares, too, maybe sees things, gets triggered by events and tries not to let anyone know he’s not 100% all the time. It’s like they’re two sides of the same coin – or, really, two sides of the same star, only his is covered in blood red and Steve’s is pure white, like it’s always been.

He watches the man ( _Steve,_ a reverent voice supplies) with mixed emotions, the echo of  _mission_  poisoning his mind. He’s caught in between two different feelings, one the extreme of the other, and he feels like he just wants to collapse.

Steve jolts awake, more than likely from whatever dream he was having rather than the presence of the Soldier, but he senses it within moments and stiffens in the dark, sitting up slowly. He doesn’t look over to his shield, but Barnes knows he’s already calculating how instantaneous an attack will be compared to how fast he can lunge for protection.

Barnes, quite possibly for the first time, hopes the other part of his chaotic awareness, the  _Bucky_ part, can take on The Winter Soldier and  _win_.

“Bucky?” Steve calls out quietly into the darkness, though both of them can see better than average.

He can’t reply right away, can’t say anything with the throbbing of the whirlwind thoughts in his head.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks with clear concern, though the wariness is there, showing he’s finally learned.

“I have dreams. I don’t know if they’re memories or if I’m making them up,” Barnes admits.

“Sometimes dreams are things you want to happen,” Steve mumbles, trying to shake his sleepiness.

Barnes shakes his head, knows the blond man sees him. “Why would I want you to be small?”

He can see Steve still on the bed.

“You remember before the war?” Steve asks and,  _damn,_ he sounds so hopeful.

“Is that when it was?” Barnes asks flippantly, trying, for whatever selfish reason, to cut the hope right out of the blond man with his words. But then he sighs quietly. “I see myself falling, but then I see things that are so pointless –”

“It’s not pointless,” Steve says, and it’s the sternness, the vehemence behind his voice that makes Barnes pause. “Everything that happened before – don’t say it’s pointless, Buck, it’s  _not_.”

“You keep calling me that, Bucky or Buck,” he replies lowly, unsure. He wants to tell him to  _stop_ , tell Steve again that Bucky is not him, but now he doesn’t know. Bucky’s memories are there, just like The Winter Soldier’s. Maybe he’s both now, almost; maybe he doesn’t mind the way his chest tightens when he hears the name said in that specific voice.

“Sorry,” Steve mutters. “I know, it’s Barnes, it’s just – you’ve been Bucky practically my whole life. Old habits die hard.”

“Or not at all,” Barnes says. He doesn’t know if the words are meant for Steve or himself.

“I’m trying,” Steve tells him.

“You always do.”

It feels like a peace offering.

Steve’s lips stretch into a pained smile. “Yeah. It can be a problem.”

Trying is so hard, he thinks, but that’s why it’s  _trying;_ remembering is irritating and tiresome and it’s painful and draining, but it’s there, like a light that never goes off, even if he wants it to, and it’s more of a guide than a blinding force.

“So,” he says in a croaky voice, less bitter and not quite as dark as before. “You used to be smaller.”

Steve tells him he can sit on the bed if he wants, but Barnes elects to stay standing, for a while at least, listening and gradually speaking the words in his mind. Steve isn’t demanding, per-se, but he isn’t a pushover either and he tries so hard to get the conversation onto things they can both remember at the same time.

Barnes admits that he sees things he can’t make sense of, tells him about a house with a woman and two sandwiches and two apples in a paper sack, and he’s told in return that it was lunch made by his mother a couple days after his father got paid and that Bucky’s parents always made sure Steve had whatever Bucky did even though the Barnes house had four children.

Barnes doesn’t stop Steve from calling him Bucky, though he still doesn’t quite identify with that name. He thinks, however, that things aren’t so far away from him anymore. He sits on the corner of the bed and focuses on all of the thoughts and the words he’s hearing.

Barnes tells him about back alleys and movie houses and school yards, vague descriptions of things he’s seen, and Steve fills in the blanks as ambiguously as he can even though he remembers just fine, because he wants  _Bucky_ to remember on his own. So they talk about Brooklyn and Church on Sundays and school on weekdays and how on Friday’s they’d skip sometimes to sneak into a show that they both thought would be fun to see even if Steve felt bad about not paying. They talk about Bucky failing art class (the only class he didn’t excel at) and Steve failing gym, and how they were so opposite sometimes that they were practically the sun and the moon, but the world would be different without both of them working together; that’s what Steve says and Barnes wants to believe him, so he does.

Barnes tells him he remembers Steve being really sick sometimes, admits that he thinks it worried Bucky, and there’s pain in Steve’s face but his eyes are happier than he’s seen them since the war – and, wow, he  _can remember that._ Steve tells him, with laughter, about a time when Bucky got whacked by the principal for storming down to the office like a mother hen and mouthing off to the teachers about Steve having asthma attacks in gym because he tries too hard and still got failed. Barnes doesn’t remember that, but the voice in his head tells him it sounds about right.

He brings up the sketchbooks in Steve’s apartment, but he doesn’t mention the drawing of the shorter-haired version of himself, the one without any eyes, and instead asks about what he used to draw while Bucky was gone at work. Steve tells him that sometimes their neighbors wanted drawings and that they’d give him cash for his troubles (Steve doesn’t say that he drew Bucky a lot, too). Barnes asks about  _their_  neighbors and gets told that, after Steve’s mother died and after he stopped being stubborn enough to realize he needed someone to share an apartment with, Bucky left his home to share a cold, rickety room with Steve.

The blond man speaks of Bucky Barnes as if the world was a better place because of him.

It makes him ache.

They don’t stop talking, even when Barnes starts to feel overwhelmed by all this information being brought to life, not until JARVIS informs them that the agents are alarmed by his absence.  Steve, still in his pajamas and thoughts of his shield abandoned, tells JARVIS to inform everyone that Barnes is with him and is not a threat.

When they get into the elevator, Steve is smiling softly, trying hard not to stare, and Barnes gets a feeling that this man – the blond man, the Captain – was his friend, and that there has never been anyone more important.

His  _mission_  is not to kill. He is not HYDRA’s weapon. He is Steve’s first shield, his first friend.

His mission is to free Bucky Barnes from the mind of The Winter Soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> demons // the national (again)
> 
> if you're sticking with this, thank you.
> 
> (edit: I changed six months to three because it fit the timeline better.)


	9. call me a safe bet, i'm betting i'm not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes watches the video until it ends and then and stares down at the blue hat clutched in his hands, with the bobble secure at the very top. The music halts, forcing the room into a tense silence. There’s so much and not enough – clean slates given when they weren’t asked for, over and over, but still somehow stained with a life that was wholly his. It just won’t go away, even when he wants it to, and he hopes that there will be a time when he doesn’t, ever, and he so madly hopes that he’ll still remember then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I want you by my side  
> so that I never feel alone again  
> They've always been so kind  
> but now they've brought you away from me  
> I hope they didn't get your mind  
> your heart is too strong anyway  
> We need to fetch back the time  
> they have stolen from us"

He’s working with black yarn when Natasha comes in, setting down a bowl of soup before she seats herself into the chair across from the bed. They don’t meet in the interrogation room anymore.

“Steve said you could use something hearty,” she explains to him when he eyes the food warily, unable to stop himself. “Vegetable beef. Will you eat it?”

Barnes shrugs but slips to the end of the bed anyway, picking the spoon up and dipping it into the bowl. He blows on the steam before sticking it into his mouth, going back for more within seconds.

“Knitting teaches patience,” she says as she watches him shovel the hot food into his mouth before her eyes drop down to the blue knit cap by his thigh. “Looks good.” He tosses it to her without much thought and realizes that he trusts her.

Natasha smiles a little, turning the hat over in her hands, suggesting he add a bobble to it before tossing it back carefully.

Then, she asks, “What’s your name?”

“Barnes,” he replies between swallows.

He tells her that he was born in Brooklyn, New York in 1917, and nods when she asks if Steve told him that when they were visiting early this morning. He tells her what Steve had told him about his mother, too  that she used to pack his lunch and tried to make sure he had something to share. Natasha looks almost content as he talks and it makes him feel a little more comfortable with opening up, so he relays some more of the things he and Steve had talked about.

He tells her, almost definitively, that he’s human. He doesn’t tell her Steve makes him feel that way.

__________________________________________

Barnes wakes up from a sleep that’s not entirely restful, but not fretful either, when JARVIS informs him that he has a telephone call from Mister Sam Wilson. He sort of expects to hear a voice coming from nowhere when he accepts the call and isn’t even really bothered by speaking into thin air.

“Missing me yet?” Sam asks jovially, and Barnes can picture the wide smile that must be accompanying it.

“No,” Barnes lies purposefully, staying silent to hear the other man’s reaction.

“Awe – _what_?”

And Sam sounds so scandalized that Barnes can’t help but let out a huff of amusement.

Sam asks questions in a casual manner, but the seriousness behind the words is all too apparent. He wants to know what Barnes has been up to – if he’s running or sparring, if he’s knitting, what he’s eating, how long he’s sleeping – and he sounds so much like a mother would; Barnes thinks it brings up memories of a long time ago, when Bucky fussed over a scrawny kid in alleys and in tiny homes and inside his head, always.

Sam asks if he can see the hat. It’s odd to Barnes; he had refused Tony, but actively allowed Natasha to see it without even a thought, and now Sam is asking and his first reaction is to say _okay_ , even though part of him forbids the words from escaping.

“Send me a picture,” Sam suggests, and Barnes doesn’t know how, so he asks JARVIS. The AI tells him to hold it, so he does, and then an image is being brought up on a screen that materialized out of nowhere, the word SENT beginning to flash, and not even a moment later Sam is telling him, “Hey, man – that’s awesome!” The praise pleases him.

Sam asks if he’s figured out who he wants to give it to. Barnes answers _yes_ , automatically, but doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t have to; he has a feeling Sam already knows.

He dreams about a brown uniform with a crumpled piece of paper tucked deep down into the pants pocket, hidden until his smiles drops and he’s miles away from his best friend.

Barnes wakes up feeling that he’s lost so much. The thought won’t go away.

He’s distracted when Dr. Banner enters his room, hands clasped like he’ll lose himself if he lets go (Barnes knows the feeling), and talks to him quietly about things he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t mind listening, but his attention is divided and Banner notices, Barnes knows he does, but the man doesn’t say anything, just lets him think about the checklist of things that are long, long gone.

He had parents once, it’s a fact. He’s human – not a machine, not a weapon, but flesh and blood and bone, and _human_ , so he had parents. His mother was brunette and thin, tall even without heeled shoes, and had a Brooklyn drawl similar to the one he hears _Bucky_ use inside his head. His father, a big man, was not born in America (though he was not born in Russia), and cannot be remembered as easily. He doesn’t remember any siblings Steve mentioned, except maybe one of his supposed sisters.

The mind conjures up many things, possibly untrue things, but they’re to be considered anyway.

So his parents are long gone, as are all the girls he took out on dates, and the Commandos and the army and the sketches he stole from the trash before he went to basic, but _Steve_ survived it all, is here still – might-not-make-it-through-the-winter Steve is as eternal as Spring.

It’s a blessing as much as it is a curse.

__________________________________________

Steve visits the next day, finds Barnes wearing fresh clothes with a clean-shaven face and his hair pulled back. There’s a split-second urge where The Winter Soldier wants to _fight,_ but Bucky stomps on it, makes Barnes ignore it with such fervor that it makes his face heat up. Being three men, all cut from the same cloth but still so different, is exhausting.

“I thought we could… hang out,” Steve says, and the last two words sound so foreign, he tries again. “Spend time together.”

The tall blond man looks awkward, hunches in on himself as if he were still small, as if _old habits die hard_ or _not at all._

“The gym?” Barnes asks, and he doesn’t try to hide his wary tone, not after everything that’s happened, after all of the truths or possible lies he’s seen floating behind his eyelids.

Steve shrugs, though it’s clear he’d rather not go there. “This is a pretty big place. Tony’s okay with me giving you a tour, as long as we stay out of his lab and away from the agents on the ground floors.”

Barnes watches him, lets his body relax, and –

“It’ll be fun.”

It’s said without thought, like a tease. It’s not even the same way, but Barnes has heard it – now, and before – and he’s grasped onto this thread and can’t let it go.

‘ _We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It’ll be fun! All you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash… come on._ ’

It’s not even remembering that upsets him, it’s that he’s _forgotten_ until now, until things are said or done and it comes back to him in waves that should mean nothing but mean _everything_.

If Steve notices, and he must, he doesn’t say anything, just tries to hide the fact that he’s like a coil, ready to spring at any moment.

Barnes grabs the needles and the black yarn and the finished-but-unfinished hat and a bobble that had been left on his table by Natasha earlier that morning, and follows Steve with a nervousness he isn’t used to feeling.

Steve leads him in and out of the elevator, down halls and through too-big rooms, trying not to stare as Barnes knits black yarn together in a way he hopes will make gloves for small hands. He listens to Steve’s deep, even voice, focusing on the softness of his tone and the awkward clearing of his throat. He’s a big man that should take up a lot of space, but his hands are tight in his pockets and his shoulders are scrunched, and Barnes recognizes that posture on someone much smaller. It’s hard for him to fully grasp that this Steve is the same Steve from before, or that there even _is_ a Steve and that he _means_ something.

Barnes divides his attention between what he’s doing with his hands, what he’s hearing, and his occasional glance around the places they go as well as his more than occasional glances at the man beside him. It takes Steve nearly twenty minutes – which is both _not long_ and _too long_ – for him to relax and let down another piece of his guard. He starts talking to Barnes with life, with eagerness and even excitement when they get to his personal floor (there’s a lot of red, white, and blue like Tony mentioned the first day Barnes arrived) and he points out a phonograph and a stack of records to accompany it.

“You have one in your apartment. Why is this one so special?” Barnes asks absently, keeping his eyes trained on his moving fingers. He can feel Steve staring.

“It’s just like the one my mom had,” he explains gently, probably more for himself than for Barnes. “It’s not the same, but – Tony really put in the effort to find one just like it. At least, that’s what Pepper told me.”

Barnes lets his eyes wander to the record player, taking in the differences between the one in front of him and the one back in DC. This one looks a lot older.

Barnes holds his tongue when he feels like asking about the song he remembers when he had snuck into the other apartment.

“Here,” Steve says, and then he’s moving towards the stacks of vinyl records, scanning through the sleeves until he finds something he’s looking for. “You might remember this one.”

There’s not a lot of hope in the words as he gently puts the needle down, but there’s enough, and Barnes listens to the faster-paced music. There are no words, just a lot of instrumental, and it doesn’t hold any significance to him, doesn’t even really sound familiar, but there’s a niggling in his mind that makes him concentrate a little harder.

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” Steve admits, “but I figured – I mean, you danced to it enough times, it might’ve jogged your memory.”

“I danced to this?” Barnes asks, confused and curious.

Steve nods, smiles, making the skin around his eyes crinkle a little. It makes Barnes want to smile, too. “You were a great dancer. Had all the girls lining up to Lindy-Hop, and you’d do the Shag, too, if they could keep up, only now it’s called _Collegiate_ Shag. But you never even took lessons. You just had the talent.”

There’s a glimmer in Steve’s eyes when he speaks of things Barnes can’t remember.

“Collegiate Shag?”

Steve asks JARVIS to please pull up videos showing people dancing Lindy-Hop and Collegiate Shag, and when Barnes sees the moves – people swinging and kicking, limbs flailing and fast feet – he can’t quite believe this was something he used to do. Sure, he can move fast, can kick and jump and spin when he’s fighting, but dancing seems so ridiculous and yet… Bucky recognizes it.

“I did that?” Barnes asks, nearly incredulous, and Steve is smiling something fierce beside him, even if his blue eyes hold bittersweet emotions.

“You did,” he tells him, honest and solid and even proud when he says, “Best in the hall.”

“Did you? Dance?”

Barnes sees Steve’s smile falter as the video goes on, takes a minute before he turns to meet an unwavering gaze. “Couldn’t. You offered to teach me, even just a slow dance, but I… I didn’t think I’d like dancing.” Barnes knows Steve is lying, possibly by omission. “And I had asthma real bad. You always played it up, looked like you were having fun, so I never minded watching.”

Barnes watches the video until it ends and then and stares down at the blue hat clutched in his hands, with the bobble secure at the very top. The music halts, forcing the room into a tense silence. There’s so much and not enough – clean slates given when they weren’t asked for, over and over, but still somehow stained with a life that was wholly his. It just won’t go away, even when he wants it to, and he hopes that there will be a time when he _doesn’t_ , ever, and he so madly hopes that he’ll still remember then.

He thinks back to the museum, to the vast information about Captain America. He had crashed HYDRA’s plane into the ocean, knowing it was certain death but still pretending that he was okay – _this is my choice_ , he had told Peggy, who had told the world of Steve’s bravery. Steve stayed under, drowning until he froze, trapped inside the body he always deserved, like it was meant to happen that way. Barnes doesn’t know if Bucky believes in fate (the voice in his head is frighteningly silent when the idea comes up), but peculiar things – terrible things – have happened that led them both here, to the future. Together. Again. _Finally_.

Barnes stares down at the hat in his hands, jaw clenched and steeling back his tears, and when he looks up he sees Steve watching him with both relief and pain.

He holds the hat in his flesh hand and extends it forward, avoiding blue eyes until the impulse to look becomes too strong.

“I don’t like hats,” he tells him. It sounds like a fact, not an excuse, but they both know the truth.

Steve reaches out, allows his fingertips to touch the soft outside, and he smiles fondly.

“You sure?” he asks, all delicate and awed, and Barnes just wants to be rid of the damned thing.

“Yeah, take it. Don’t want it.”

Steve’s fingers close over the other side of the hat, hesitating, but then he pulls it until it’s in his hand only, practically marveling at it.

 “It’s great, Buck.”

Barnes snorts, turns half away, and says, “It’s stupid,” like an irritated child.

Steve laughs, letting all the air out of his lungs in a way that must feel like respite.

__________________________________________

Barnes dreams about falling, painting blood into snow. He sees it come down, feels nothing but numbness as flakes melt and turn into dripping water against his skin, until he’s no longer in snow, but the ocean – until he _is_ the ocean. He dreams of Steve crashing into him, drowning in the vastness of his head, black and scary, until he’s frozen in time and the Soldier comes alive.

Bucky never died, just changed. He doesn’t have to get rid of the cold, can let it coexist with the sun in his veins and the blossoming heart inside his chest and the falling leaves that haunt his mind. He can be The Winter Soldier, if he has to be, if he can’t stop, because he’s always been a soldier anyway; and he can be Barnes, caught somewhere in the middle of now and then and times he can’t recall.

He can be Bucky, because he already _is_ , never stopped being him.

Barnes dreams that the shards of his life are being glued together by the strong hands of Steve. It feels like it’s always been this way.

__________________________________________

Barnes is finishing his cereal (it’s very sugary and he likes it) when Banner comes in, a small smile on his lips.

“Natasha had an emergency. Barton’s her backup, so they’ll be alright,” he says quietly, taking a seat.

“Did Steve go?”

Banner shakes his head. “He’s in DC with Sam, but he’ll be back later today. He, uh –” Barnes can see that the doctor is trying hard not to smile too widely. “He was wearing the hat, told anyone who’d listen that you made it.”

Barnes hunches into himself, frustratingly embarrassed, but Banner gives a soft chuckle and messes with the glasses on his face.

“He was very proud,” Banner tells him. He sounds like Natasha, for a moment.

Barnes taps his finger on the table in front of him, pushing the empty bowl away with his knuckles. His new goal, new _mission_ (learn to let Bucky Barnes resurface), has given him so many thoughts and he needs advice from someone who isn’t Steve; Doctor Banner lives with a monster inside him every day, ready to come out when given even the slightest chance. Barnes knows how that feels, truly.

“Take control and embrace the changes in your life… that’s what you told me,” he rasps out, uncomfortable and nervous and eager. “How do you do that? How would _I_ do that?”

Doctor Banner observes him, perplexed for a few seconds before his demeanor seems calm again. “Well, I control my… problem by allowing myself to be angry. I don’t tip-toe around it anymore, because I have power over the monster instead of the monster having power over me, and it helps, particularly since I allowed myself to get close to people again. When you find friends and partners, people you can be honest with, they’ll trust you and they’ll accept you for who you are and what you’ve done.”

Barnes takes in Banner’s words as if they were fresh breaths. Even if he still has doubts, it’s nice to know this rag-tag group of people is close and accepting of each other, of literal and figurative monsters. He just doesn’t know if he fits in anywhere or if he even still fits in next to Steve.

“I don’t always remember the things that happen when the other guy takes over,” Banner confesses. “Sometimes I wish I could forget what I do recall. It’s the opposite with you, isn’t it? You remember most of the bad and hardly any of the good.”

“Things come back, often enough to make me wanna get the guy I used to be out from under the thing HYDRA and the Soviets made me.”

It feels like he’s confessing something, too.

Banner looks thoughtful. “You see yourself as more than one person? Do you – is there an understanding that you are these multiple personalities, or are they detached? I’m not a medical doctor, but I study and I only ask because there’s such a thing as Dissociate Identity Disorder. It’s debated that DID can be hand-in-hand with PTSD.”

“I – I don’t,” Barnes struggles, his face scrunching with confusion and frustration. “I was The Winter Soldier, probably still am, but I’m Barnes now, which is somewhere in the middle, and I know I can’t really be Bucky again but I have to try because he’s still in here.” He taps his head with two fingers from his flesh hand. “He tells me things that I’m supposed to know and at first it was kind of like someone else, like maybe I was going crazy – crazier than how I already am – but now it’s different. It’s… it’s me, I think.” He can’t quite explain it, but Banner doesn’t look horrified by what he’s heard, so maybe it makes more sense to him.

“I know you’ll be skittish around machines, it’s natural. I still get nervous around enclosed spaces. But… I’d like to try to assess you in very scientific manners, to help you, if I can. Do you want to remember?”

Nervous, Barnes licks his lips and tries not to let his clenching fingers go for the needles. “I want to,” he confirms. “I wanna know everything about my past. It seems good and, if it’s not, it can’t be any worse than –” He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t have to. They both know he wants to leave The Winter Soldier behind. “But I can’t promise that I won’t revert when I’m around your equipment, if that’s how we end up. It could go bad real fast, Doc.” Despite his words, it sounds more like Bucky speaking than the Solider, and that’s the most promising thing they could get.

Bruce smiles somewhat sardonically. “I’m kind of incapable of getting hurt these days. We might make a good pair.”

__________________________________________

Steve is very unhappy about things when he gets back and finds out Barnes is being subjecting to testing by _Bruce, of all people!_ Barnes can hear the disappointment in his voice and then the confusion when they tell him that Barnes is an active participant and has not been coerced. Still, he demands to see _Bucky_ in the most undemanding way.

“What are you doing?” he asks righteously, once they’re face to face in one of the spare labs at Tony’s tower. The tone and the expression make him ache with distant familiarity.

“Banner wants to monitor my mental condition. He says I have PTSD.”

Steve bristles at the mention of PTSD and it’s enough to tell Barnes that the Steve hasn’t been and isn’t dealing with his own problems.

“Thinks I might have Dissociative Identity Disorder,” he continues, and even though the thought scares him, the anger thrumming through Steve is familiar and _welcome_.

“You don’t,” he hisses, dangerous, but there’s enough doubt and fear in his eyes and in his expression to keep things on track.

“You’re a Doctor now?”

Steve’s blue eyes are steely. “ _Doctor_ Banner is a scientist. I don’t think he’s qualified for medical diagnoses.” And then, as an afterthought, he turns to say, “No offence.”

“You trust him,” Barnes says, and it isn’t a question; there’s no room for argument. Steve’s jaw clenches. “You wanted to help. Maybe this will. Get to the root of the problem, right?”

“The root of the problem is HYDRA, Bucky,” Steve all but snaps.

“No,” Barnes says, resolved. “You call me Bucky, but I don’t feel like him. _That’s_ the problem.”

Barnes hates the way Steve’s face crumples, how injured and sorry he suddenly looks. “I _know_ , I can get it right –”

“You do,” he assures Steve, and also himself. “Now _I_ have to. I wanna know how bad it is, if I can – if this is a lost cause or not.”

“You’re not a – you never gave up on me,” Steve whispers, harsh and real and honest. He’s interrupted before he can continue.

Barnes remembers why because _Bucky_ does. He thinks it should be the same thing.

“You were worth the effort,” he says quietly, but his tired eyes never leave the blue depths of Steve’s. “Still are. That’s the only reason I’m trying.”

If he didn’t look hurt before, he does now.

“You’re acting like we’ll pick his brain apart,” Tony says from nearby, his arms across his chest and his eyes zeroed in on the two soldiers.

Steve, reluctantly, turns away from Barnes and steels his righteous gaze on Tony instead, his voice all Captain America and straight to business. “You’re involved with this?” _I’m not surprised_ in a tone of betrayal goes unsaid.

Tony holds his hands out, placating, and his eyebrows shoot up. “Moral support,” he tries, then amends, “Okay, tech support. But, hey – the good Doctor isn’t gonna hurt your precious boyfriend, Cap, so let’s tone down the virtue a bit and think _logically_. We can’t uproot the problem until we find it.”

“This isn’t your job,” Steve argues, but there’s less weight to it now.

“Yeah, no, it’s not, but neither was saving New York from an alien invasion brought on by a diva from outer space, or building entire floors to house a bunch of weirdos – who I’ve become strangely sentimental over, by the way – or agreeing to let an ex-HYDRA-assassin-slash- ex-BFF of Captain America stay under our roof, but it all just sort of happened.” Tony takes a deep breath and shrugs. “We get into trouble all the time. Let’s get someone _out_ for once. Well, not for _once_ , since we tend to save lives just by existing –”

Banner cuts him off. “Nothing we do here today should cause him pain. We’re just monitoring.”

“It’s my choice,” Barnes says, and his tone is almost goading, like a dare for Steve to try and take his free-will away now that he’s starting to get it back.

The words hit Steve, more than intended, and the man steps back as if he’s been slapped. He swallows and then looks at Bruce with authority in his posture and vulnerability behind his eyes.

“Monitoring,” he states. “No testing. Just… monitoring.”

“Exactly, Cap,” Bruce says soothingly.

Barnes can’t stop his nerves, can’t help from gripping the side of the metal slab he lies on until it whines and dents underneath his fingertips. He can’t stop himself from breathing raggedly and trying to lead himself up to the pain and the blinding lights inside his head even though there won’t be any.

“We can give you a muscle relaxant,” Doctor Banner offers. Barnes shakes his head and puffs out his cheeks, trying to stop himself from accepting a ghost of a mouth guard.

Steve is there, behind a glass wall, watching like a hawk with tight lips and a tense posture. Barnes tries to ignore him by focusing on not throwing Banner and Tony across the room while they pull at his hair until they can get the electrodes onto his scalp.

“Should we shave him?” he hears Tony ask, but it’s more of a tease than an actual question.

There’s no pain. Still, it’s not as fully a relief as it should be.

They’re there for what feels like hours, but is probably barely even one, and neither Barnes nor Steve move; Banner and Tony hum and murmur to themselves, watching the screen and occasionally adding or pulling away electrodes and wires.

“Your physiology is… I’ve never seen anything like it,” Bruce says after a while as he detaches everything and helps Barnes sit up, even though he doesn’t need to. “I imagine Steve’s is pretty similar, but to actually see an enhanced brain is pretty amazing.”

“You’ve got some damage, Bucko,” Tony adds. He’s leaning against a table, tapping something against his palm.

“But it’s healing,” Bruce continues, trying to hold back his awe. “No human would recover from the damage sustained to your brain. Between the frying and the freezing, repeatedly, and the implementation of false memory and data – there’s scarring and some areas look like the cells should be dead, but you’re fully functional.”

“What about his memories?” Steve asks briskly. “Should we focus on memory recovery or getting him back into civilian life?”

“I remember things,” Barnes says before anyone can answer for him. “I wanna know about my damn life before anything else happens.”

“They might keep trickling in, for a while. It’s impossible to tell,” Bruce explains. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about any permanent side-effects. Your structure looks stable, so our focus should be psychological now.”

“Personally, I think it’s just PTSD. Maybe a little depression, but that’s a given,” Tony cuts in, fixing his stare on Cap.

“I don’t want you involved with anyone’s mental health, Stark,” Steve states, and Tony laughs.

“Fair enough. But we’re just trying to help your friend. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“We can call in an expert,” Banner reassures them, but it makes Barnes stiffen. He keeps quiet. “They’ll do an assessment and let us know where to go from there.”

__________________________________________

Steve demands to see the file after Barnes comes out of the psych evaluation, the doctor following behind. No one puts up a fight.

Perhaps everyone had been expecting a list of mental disorders to rival Steve’s old physical ailments. Other than Dissociative Personality Disorder, which Bruce had carefully put out there, Tony had thrown out words like Schizotypal and Schizoid, which practically made Steve start shaking with shock until Bruce assured them that Barnes wasn’t exhibiting many of the symptoms associated with those disorders, following up with a disapproving look to Tony. Natasha had told Stark to look up Narcissistic Personality Disorder, joking even though she appeared completely serious; he gave a ‘ha-ha’ and rolled his eyes (as if he’d never heard _that_ before).

Barnes can’t explain the relief he feels when Steve’s body relaxes and he lets out a breath, the worst of his fears seemingly unreal.

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Anxiety, and Depression,” Steve reads out loud, allowing his eyes to scan the file one more time before he closes it. “Have to say, it’s not as bad as I thought.”

“You mean I’m not as crazy as you thought,” Barnes intones. Surprisingly, it makes Steve laugh; it sounds almost hysterical.

The doctor, slightly uncomfortable, manages to pull the file out of Steve’s grip only because he lets her, muttering a goodbye as she fast-walks out of the area.

“Buck – _Barnes_ ,” he corrects, chastising himself. “We can work through this, pull you back into the world. We’re not – I mean, _I’m_ not trying to make you be him, you gotta know that, but… you’ve always done so much for me, I wanna help you now, like I couldn’t before.”

Barnes studies Steve’s face carefully, taking in every detail; the set of his mouth, the small pull of his brows, the hair that he seemed to always push away threatening to spill down onto his forehead. He can see what he’s feeling, though Steve tries so hard to hide it.

“You’re talking about the train,” Barnes says observantly. It makes Steve inhale deep and slow. “I see it, you reaching for me, but I can’t remember how I got there or how it happened…” It’s an invitation to tell him; Steve knows it, but he won’t accept. “How’d I end up on the outside?” he asks, direct, and Steve can’t meet his eyes.

“You were trying to protect me,” he begins, voice hollow. “I was downed by some HYDRA goon, so you took my shield.” Steve shakes his head, tries to shake the memory even as he explains. “The vibration of the blast knocked you back. The shield was worthless, and I remember thinking – it couldn’t even save my best pal, that it played a hand in your death. You tried to save me and even when I was finally able, I couldn’t save you back.”

Barnes stares at Steve until their eyes meet. Steve’s confession punches something inside him and it’s enough to make anger shoot through his core, makes him turn around and leave his guilt-ridden friend without a word, without even a single glance back.

He doesn’t speak for the rest of the afternoon, doesn’t even touch his knitting. He lies down on the bed, curled up on top of the blankets, and stares through the cracked window until he can’t feel himself blink anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stolen dance // milky chance (aka my absolute favorite song at the moment)
> 
> thanks for any kudos or comments. i truly appreciate it.


	10. i'm glad that you can forgive; only hoping as time goes, you can forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sees Steve’s lips quirk into a smile that reaches his eyes, even if it’s short-lived.
> 
> “This your way of saying you’re not mad at me anymore?”
> 
> Bucky snorts and leans back into the creaking wooden chair. “I’m still mad,” he says plainly, “but not for the reasons you probably think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What I feel now about you then  
> I'm just glad I can explain  
> You're beautiful and close and young  
> In those ways, we were the same  
> There's a lot I've not forgotten  
> I let go of other things  
> If I tried, they'd probably be  
> hard to find"

He’s irritable for the next two days, refusing to speak to Natasha and Bruce, and Sam when he calls. He hears the whispering because they don’t care if he does; they wonder if the sudden events of the previous day have made him relapse. _It wouldn’t make sense_ , one of them says. _He won’t even eat_ , another replies.

Steve doesn’t come around.

Barnes is lost inside his head. The Winter Soldier is nowhere to be found.

Bucky is fuming.

__________________________________________

“You need a shower,” Tony says on the third day, not bothering with pleasantries. Barnes had heard him come in; he doesn’t turn over. “Seriously. Clean up, eat, smash your fist through the TV – _do something._ ”

“Did your old man ever tell you any stories about the war?” he asks without thinking. He doesn’t want to bring Howard Stark up, not after what he’d done and Tony, _still_ , forgave him, but he does anyway and he’s not sure why.

“Only all the time. His golden years, if he ever had any. Never shut up about Capsicle.”

Bitterness. Barnes recognizes it with ease.

He turns over slowly, eyes peering through his curtain of straggly hair to land on Tony.

“Did he ever mention Bucky? Uh, me?”

Tony shrugs, but steps a little closer, leans himself against the metal wall. “Mentioned you here and there, I guess. Said you died a hero, but without all the glory Cap got, so.” He shrugs again.

Died a hero. He could scoff at that, but he doesn’t. “Did he tell you how stupid Steve was?”

His words make Tony snort as he drums his fingers against the wall. “Kind of figured that out for myself,” he says, and then he stops and just looks at Barnes with his mind racing, no doubt. “Is he why you’re having your little temper tantrum? Don’t answer that – I know I’m right. Question is: why? What did the good Captain say to hurt your feelings?”

Barnes turns his head away but keeps his body still. His eyes roam over the ceiling in an attempt to ignore the images threatening to creep into the forefront of his mind. It happens anyway.

“We saw Stark at the World Expo the night before I shipped out to England,” he says by way of answering the question. His voice is almost wistful. “Took Steve there with a couple of dames – girls. That was the future, for us. Some wacko claiming flying cars would be a staple in just a few years.” He doesn’t even care that it’s nearly all Bucky talking now, doesn’t try to stop the shift that’s been waiting to happen since Steve’s guilt had been lain out. “I never cared about anything more than a couple of years ahead… stopped around the fifties ‘cause I didn’t think I’d even make it to then. Wasn’t wrong, wasn’t right. Don’t know what I was… or what I am.”

He pushes his hair away from his face and moves until he can see Tony again, until he can see what must be an uncharacteristically patient face.

“Do you think what happened to me was his fault?”

“No,” Tony answers, but then he pauses and bites down on the inside of his lip, Barnes can see, and says, “I don’t know the whole story, but…”

“If you were up there with him, on a train with no way out, and he fell, would you blame yourself?”

Tony swallows and scratches his head, trying to get out of the question without abruptly leaving. “Look, you’re asking the wrong guy. I’m never the first to admit it but I’ve got problems of my own –”

“You can’t save ‘em all, you know that?” he asks, and Tony nods, tight and jerky. “Yeah, he’s a damn soldier and he can’t even get that through his head.”

“I dunno,” Tony says, warily, like he can’t believe he’s about to defend the blond man. “I think he learned that pretty recently, with the whole HYDRA trying to blow up 20 million people thing. Not to mention seeing the ghost of his friend come alive.”

“It was war,” Barnes says, ignoring the other man’s words. “It’s like he thought we were all invincible just ‘cause we called ourselves the Howling Commandos and followed Captain America into battle. ‘Cept me, you know. I followed _Steve_. Maybe that was my mistake, maybe it was s’posed to happen. Never really thought much of fate, but everything… everything seemed to have a place. I think, for a while, I had the same ideas as him. For a while I believed we could make it.” He’s looking at Tony but it’s like he’s seeing through him. “I don’t know if we did or not,” he whispers. He doesn’t know where the memories came from, either, but he doesn’t question it. Then, at normal volume, “If you were on that train and you fell off, would you blame him for not saving you?”

Tony’s answer is more assured this time. “No. I wouldn’t.”

Barnes’s lips twitch into an empty smile.

“Me neither.”

__________________________________________

It’s Bucky that sleeps that night, whispers to Barnes and The Winter Soldier that things are about to change, even if it well and truly kills him this time.

He dreams of grabbing the shield and trying to protect Steve.

He still falls.

__________________________________________

He doesn’t have the clearance to get onto Steve’s floor (apartment, really), so he goes through the gym air vents again, not bothering to be sneaky.  The place is empty. He waits in the kitchen for a long time, sitting in the shadows out of habit.

When Steve comes in, ready to drop his shield from where it’s perched on his back, he seems to know someone else is with him and freezes. He watches the man in the shadows move, deliberately, showing that he’s not a current threat. Steve drops the shield.

“We’ll get you authorization to come up here,” he tells him tiredly, “so you don’t have to sneak around.”

“It bothers you.”

Steve shakes his head. “Thought maybe it bothered you? Can’t remember you ever liking being told you weren’t allowed somewhere.”

“It’s impossible to keep me out of places I’m meant to be,” Bucky says, and it’s quiet, like someone might hear, like it matters if they do.

He sees Steve’s lips quirk into a smile that reaches his eyes, even if it’s short-lived.

“This your way of saying you’re not mad at me anymore?”

Bucky snorts and leans back into the creaking wooden chair. “I’m still mad,” he says plainly, “but not for the reasons you probably think.”

Steve scrubs a hand over his face and moves closer until he can sit on the arm of the couch, facing the silhouette of his friend. “I understand,” Steve says, and his voice matches his words completely. “You _should_ be mad. It’s only been a couple of years for me, but for you it’s probably been a decade or more, and it’s not fair. You’ve suffered so much because of me –”

“You’re such an idiot,” Bucky interrupts, and he’s more exasperated by this point, leaning forward with his metal fingers pressing hard into the wooden table. “Fuckin dumb little punk.”

“Why?” Steve demands, indignant as ever, and for a moment he looks like the scrawny kid who always held his chin up and never backed down from a fight. “Because I take responsibility for what happened to you? I was in charge. You had my back and I didn’t have yours.”

“I may not remember much, but I think I know you. Am I wrong?”

Steve’s answer is immediate. “No.”

“Then I must be right when I say it wasn’t on you. It wasn’t, it _isn’t_ ,” Bucky insists when Steve tries to protest. “You said I was trying to protect you. I remember that. I remember that it happened so fast, saw you with the shield so many times I didn’t even think it’d be different for me. You tried, and that means more than you think.”

Steve is silent for a long moment, trying to process everything, Bucky knows. He won’t make eye contact for more than a few seconds and each time he does he looks like he might be sick, like it’s as hard for him to breathe as it used to be.

“Survivors guilt,” Steve says. His body moves the like words are heavy coming out of his mouth. “My first Psych Eval after waking up wasn’t a surprise. I lost you, and then Peggy and the Commandos when I put that ship under, never expecting to come out – expecting _not_ to, and then I woke up, 70 years into a future that only feels like days later for me. I woke up, thought I was captured, but it was worse. There were cars everywhere and huge screens with flashing pictures, and people looked so different, Buck. It took a while for me to understand completely and to accept the way things happened. They said that we won, but…” he shakes his head, his shoulders slumping. “Like I told Fury, they didn’t say what we lost. I could adjust, you know, but they wanted to examine me and that was at least familiar, so they did and they told me I had something called PTSD, kind of like shell shock. They knew I was depressed. Hell, growing up in the depression? Only fitting. And then they said I had survivor’s guilt and that was probably the thing that hurt most because it made me realize everything was real. My choice got me to the future when yours got you in the ground, buried under snow in another country decades away. I finally understood that I’d have to live without you, for the rest of my life, and I didn’t know how.”

“You want me to say you should’ve jumped after me?” Bucky asks, nearly as emotionless as the Soldier, but not quite fully there. “You should’ve, Steve. Let yourself die after everything I did to protect you.”

Bucky knows Steve looks away because he’s angry and hurt and exhausted, and because it’s so hard to face the demons of your past. He _knows_.

“Peggy told me, after, when I was real out of my head, that I should respect the dignity of your choice,” he murmurs.

Bucky doesn’t really remember who Peggy is, but he can see brown hair and red lipstick and knows she was someone fierce and respected. He agrees with her.

“She was right,” he says aloud. “They would’ve found me, you get it? Even if you jumped and lived, you wouldn’t’ve saved me like you keep tellin yourself. And if you – if you didn’t wake up, I’d still be with HYDRA or the Soviets or whoever the hell wanted me until they gave me a death worse than the one you thought I got.” He hesitates, uncomfortable voicing his emotions; that at least hasn’t changed. “You brought me back, Steve.”

Steve rests his eyes on Bucky as he shifts out of the dark, standing stiffly with his hair at his shoulders, not up like he usually has it these days. The way he’s looking makes Bucky want to smile and cry with relief.

“ _Bucky_ ,” he breathes out, a statement full of awe instead of a careful question.

“It’s me,” he breathes back with a jerk of his head, forcing his arms to stay at his sides. “Right now. Maybe the closest I’ll ever get, but still. It’s me.”

“I’ll take amnesiac over dead any day,” Steve says, and though Bucky thinks they might’ve laughed, a long time ago, they simply smile now, awkward and relieved and as ready as they can be to take the first step with finality behind it since they arrived at the bulky ‘A’ tower.

 __________________________________________

“Big day, ah?” Tony says with a grin as he leads the way towards his lab. Bucky and Steve follow quietly. “Kind of like letting your kid stay home alone of the first time. That’s a thing, right? Whatever – just know that we have nearly full confidence in you. Please don’t kill us in our sleep.”

Bucky can hear Steve sigh from behind him. Tony grins wider.

As they enter the lab, Tony calls out to JARVIS, “Barnes, James Buchanan. Alias: Bucky. Alias –” He looks to Bucky, who shakes his head, understanding the silent question. “No further aliases,” Tony backtracks.  “Change guest floor to Bucky’s floor.”

“Done, Sir,” JARVIS replies almost instantly.

“Good. Give unrestricted access to Bucky for Bucky’s floor, communal kitchen, gym, rec room. Permitted access to Captain Steven Rogers’s floor –”

“Unrestricted,” Steve corrects.

“Unrestricted,” Tony parrots back. “Give access to lab, when assisted by me. Give access to further Avenger floors when accompanied by any fellow Avenger; access to SHIELD or Stark floors when accompanied by Agents Hill, Barton, Romanoff, Captain Rogers, Colonel Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, or myself. Deny access to any door, window, or _vent_ leading outside of this building.” He looks to Bucky with a half-apologetic expression. “Sorry, pal. Captain’s orders.”

Steve looks a little sorry, too.

Bucky says nothing.

“There’s an actual bedroom on your floor,” Tony says as he moves farther into the large room, weaving around tables and parts. “If you want the upgrade.  No force-field, promise.”

“That sounds pretty good, right?” Steve asks, and he has such a happy look on his face that Bucky can’t help thinking _sap_. “Let’s go check it out.”

Bucky follows Steve back out of the lab. He hears JARVIS announce to Tony that a Mr. Pym is calling, but Tony declines and starts welding metal instead.

“We should get you some clothes,” Steve decides as they enter the elevator.

Bucky looks down at the borrowed items he’s wearing and silently agrees. Most of what he’s been wearing is sweatpants and t-shirts, both of which are either too big or too small, or pieces of his Soldier uniform, never the whole thing.

Steve doesn’t continue until after JARVIS asks Barnes to stare into the retinal scanner, simultaneously storing the info for future use and to get the elevator moving towards the floor he’s been staying on – _his own floor_.  “I can probably get Natasha to come with me,” he says as they begin to move. “Sam would go. You should pick out your own things, but…”

Bucky knows the ‘ _it’s not a good idea for you to be out in the open’_ that goes unsaid.

“I’ll make a list,” Steve decides out loud, and then he’s suddenly pulling out a small notebook and a pen, scribbling something at the top of a blank page. “Maybe we should start with, um, like… boxer shorts? Or boxer briefs? Or just briefs, like we used to wear, you know? They have all sorts of colors and patterns. You should have some undershirts, too.”

Sighing, Bucky steps out of the elevator, Steve and his little book trailing behind him, and stops in the hallway. He turns just enough to sweep his eyes over what Steve’s wearing – white running shoes, fitted denim jeans with a brown belt, a white shirt peeking out from below a plaid button-up, underneath a very thin looking dark leather jacket.

From the flashes he gets, Steve (tiny Steve) never dressed like this – no one from their time did, from what he could gather. It was all white t-shirts and khaki pants for the blond man then, sure, but there were suspenders and high waists and short ties and dirty tan jackets that were always too big at the shoulders and leather shoes that made his feet look even bigger, and he did have big feet for such a small man. He’d always filled them; they were made for the body he wasn’t born with, just like his spirit.

Bucky can’t really remember what he used to wear. Probably similar things, only bigger and better fitted.

Bucky realizes Steve is talking again and rubbing the end of the pen against his scalp.

“Natasha got me some pants that are really tight. They aren’t so bad, kind of like the uniform. Maybe you’d like those? The colors are unbelievable, but I won’t try anything more than blue, black, or brown.”

“Um,” Bucky says dumbly, tightening his low ponytail. “Anything’s better than this.” He gestures to his current attire that’s fit for sleeping and working out, but not something he feels good wearing. He still can’t get over being able to _feel good_ and _wanting_ to. “I trust you.”

It’s added like an afterthought, said with an attempt of a shrug, but the words mean more to both of them than either can say or think. Bucky wants to chew on his chapped lip, a habit he doesn’t know when he acquired, and Steve looks like he’s seen something awe-inspiring – or, more accurately, heard.

He pushes the look away quickly and tries to settle on a simple, sincere smile. Bucky can’t help hunching in on himself a little.

“I don’t think you’ll want anything too crazy, but I can’t be held responsible for everything that makes it into your closet.”

Steve begins to move down the hallway as if mentioning the closet has reminded him what he’s here for. He doesn’t know the exact door of the bedroom, opens a linen closet and then another closet across from it filled with empty shelves. Through process of elimination, and knowing where the bathroom is, Steve finally opens the right door and allows Bucky to enter first.

He goes in cautiously, unable to shake the suspicion even though there’s no warrant for it here. He practically creeps into the wide, naturally-lit room, peeking around corners in silence and pulling open a closet door with speed and a defensive stance.

Bucky can see Steve standing in the doorway, vaguely watching as he scribbles down the list of clothing items he thinks should suffice. It’s like a mission, now that Bucky’s put his trust in him.

“Do you still wear 10 in shoes?”

Bucky looks down, relaxing his defensive posture, and moves his foot around, observing. He doesn’t know.

“I go 11 or 12, it depends,” Steve tries helpfully.

Bucky shrugs.

Coming to stand beside him, Steve places his foot up against his, trying to get a crude measurement with just his gaze.

“You always had big feet,” Bucky says suddenly, voicing his earlier thoughts. Steve’s answering laugh is genuine as he takes a small step back.

“And you always had a big head.”

Bucky knows it’s a tease. He gives a tiny smile, just to appease Steve’s worried eyes and to keep curve of his lips upward.

“I’ll try 10 and a half,” Steve decides.

He talks a little bit about shirt measurements, tells Bucky that he’s got wider shoulders and bigger arms since he last saw him ( _during the war,_ he doesn’t say), and that he’s probably got a thicker waist. “I’ll go up a size,” he says. “You probably don’t want loose clothes. Never liked it that way.”

He doesn’t know how Steve remembers his measurements from before. It makes his chest feel warm, though he doesn’t mention it.

Natasha knocks on the doorway a few minutes later, allowing them to see a closed-lip smile that reaches her eyes when she steps in. She’s dressed casually, her hair pulled back into a bun. Bucky can remember seeing it that way once, a long time ago. Those memories are fuzzier than the ones of Steve.

“Decent upgrade,” she tells him, eyeing the room and all its space. There’s a dresser near the closet, a large bed pushed against the opposite wall, and a window similar to the one he cracked to the right of it. “In need of some personal touches.”

“I was thinking we could get him some clothes,” Steve announces to Natasha this time. “Sam will wanna help.”

Natasha grins a little. “Of course he will.”

“I have a list.”

Her smile widens. “Of course you do. We’ll use it as a guideline, but I don’t completely trust your sense of fashion.”

Steve grumbles a little, says almost sulkily, “Bucky does,” like it’s the only thing that matters. Natasha’s eyes are knowing when they look into his own.

“It’s a mission worthy of my time. Why don’t we go pay Wilson a visit?”

They leave, with Steve calling over his shoulder that they won’t be long, suggesting that Bucky take a shower and eat something as they disappear down the hallway and off his floor. He stands there for a moment, alone, and stares at the walls, noticing that they’re a green color.

On impulse, he softly asks into thin air, “Does green mean anything?”

“Many things, Sir. Tranquility, health, harmony, balance, and safety. Also, greed.”

He nearly snarls in disgust as the images and the irony of the walls in the celled room at the abandoned bank surface to the front of his thoughts. He sees the chair, the device that forced the humanity out of him, all smashed to pieces on the ground. It does nothing to help him.

He slams the door with a clenched jaw and heads to the bathroom.

__________________________________________

Bucky knows when Steve, Natasha, and Sam stop at his floor because they’re loud. He doesn’t mind it, though, and stops his knitting to listen to their laughter, the rustling of bags, and footsteps. They start to pass the room when Natasha stops and eyes him curiously, nearly causing Sam and Steve to bump into her.

“Trouble adjusting?” she asks, making her way into the smaller area that they all seem to have become familiar with. Sam shares her curious expression, but Steve looks concerned.

His first instinct is not to say anything. His second is to lie, to say that he just stopped in to grab his very few belongings (mostly his bag of yarn, his boots, and his current glove project). Looking each one of them in the face, his gaze lingering on Steve before settling on the wall behind him, he breathes out the truth.

“The walls are green.”

He chances a peek to see that Steve’s forehead is creased and Sam’s eyebrows are raised. Natasha waits without any expectations.

“The… the walls at my last base were green. I, um –” He swallows and rubs at his cleanly-shaven jaw.

“We can paint.” Steve is the first one to speak.

“Yeah, man,” Sam backs. “We’ll paint the walls ourselves. Got a color in mind?”

The solution sounds so simple. He can paint over the green walls with his own hands, with help from the people he _trusts_.

Natasha glances at Steve and then at Bucky, smiling when she says, “Baby blue.”

It works for him.

“We’ll get started tomorrow, if you want. But –” Steve holds up his bags and rustles them. “Let’s see if you approve.”

“I’ll go first,” Natasha says as she glides forward, plopping her two full bags down onto the floor. “I want truthful answers and visual confirmation. Try these on.”

Bucky takes the two bags and heads towards the bathroom. When he comes back out he’s wearing a burgundy v-neck t-shirt, charcoal jeans that are looser around the thighs and knees but very snug in the bottom, a black coat with a lot of buttons, and high-top shoes that say converse on them. Natasha and Sam are sitting on his bed while Steve leans against the wall when he enters the room.

He blinks almost owlishly at them.

“You matched yourself pretty well,” Natasha teases. “Better than Steve and his first updated wardrobe.”

Steve snorts but doesn’t correct her.

“You look cool, kid,” Sam confirms, as if that’s important to Bucky. It isn’t, but he thinks that maybe it used to be, and part of him is pleased.

He tries Natasha’s other outfit on. It’s dressier, with tight gray slacks, a black button-up shirt, and a matching gray jacket with a single button. There’s a tie, too, black and satiny. It doesn’t stand out against the shirt, just makes it look more complete. He puts on the shiny shoes and though they’re snug, he likes them. They look similar to what the men dancing in the videos wore.

“You look great, Buck,” Steve says. “Very sharp.”

Natasha looks pleased, though she adds, “You could use a trim.”

He touches the hair around his face instinctively, tugging at the ends that are rustled out of the ponytail. Perhaps it’s something to consider, but – his hair has become a safety blanket of sorts. All the more reason to cut it, he supposes.

Sam forces Bucky to take his two bags back to the bathroom, but not before promising a more casual and colorful look. He strips off the suit and looks at the two t-shirts, one purple and the other bright blue with some sort of logo on it. There are loose, comfortable, faded jeans and sneakers that are shiny and fancy and brighter than the shirts. There’s a large black watch that he clasps on his wrist, too.

Sam hollers with excitement and ribs his elbows at Steve, who has plopped down next to him, and Natasha, who tries (but not too hard) to hold her smirk.

He takes Steve’s bags into the bathroom and peers into them after neatly folding Sam’s pickings and carefully placing them away. He sees a pair of khakis and a pair of levis, a dark plaid button-up, a few white t-shirts mixed in with black or navy, a plain white dress shirt, something that looks like an army jacket, accompanied by a leather jacket, a pair of what must be better-fitting black sweats, very tight under-armor shirts, and several long-sleeved v-necks in similar dark tones. There are also a pair of boots and something like loafers, size 10 and ½ like promised, as well as undershirts and briefs in white or black or gray and socks.

Bucky tries everything but the undergarments on and smiles each time Steve does. It’s comfortable, normal. It’s bizarre. He likes it.

Sam and Natasha tease Steve over his choices. “Not _too_ old guy,” Sam says, “I’ll give you that.”

“He looks charming,” is Natasha’s reply.

Steve asks, hopeful, “You like everything?”

Bucky does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hard to find // the national
> 
> so, i have no excuse for this other than that i wanted bucky trying on clothes his friends bought for him. oh yeah, and they're starting to talk through their problems, so yay.


	11. if it makes you less sad, i'll move out of this state

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No,” Bucky says, and it’s harsh, feral, and stubborn like the set of his jaw and the fire in his icy eyes. “No, Steve. I remember this part. I remember now better than ever, and I’m telling you that it was there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I used to be a little boy, so old in my shoes  
> And what I choose is my choice  
> What's a boy supposed to do?  
> The killer in me is the killer in you, my love  
> I send this smile over to you"

True to their word, after Bucky finishes his breakfast, he’s met by Steve, Natasha, Sam, and Barton; the latter two looking a bit grumpy due to the early time. They’re holding paint buckets and brushes and rollers and plastic tarps as he follows them to the room.

When they enter and Barton spots the numerous bags of clothes that have yet to be hung up, he turns to Natasha with an accusing look.

“You were busy,” she says immediately. It does nothing to ease Barton’s glare.

“You didn’t even ask if I wanted to go.”

She pats Barton’s shoulder affectionately. Bucky notices the way her touch lingers.

“Next time,” she promises.

Barton grunts and turns to help pull the dresser towards the middle of the room while Steve pushes the bed. Bucky assists Sam in laying out the tarps as Natasha opens the cans of paint and primer.

She requests that JARVIS play a specific playlist that she created the night before, which is full of songs for all the various people in the room. It starts with AC/DC, which makes Bucky smile and when Steve sees, he smiles, too.

They’re painting the walls, Natasha and Bucky with the rollers, Sam and Steve and Barton with brushes, and though they’re quiet under the music, he can still hear the light communications. Barton and Natasha gravitate towards each other, whispering teasing words when they think no one is listening, like they’re in their own little world. Sam and Steve are a little louder, more casual and friendly than intimate. They try to include Bucky in their conversations, Steve being more obvious in doing so, but it’s appreciated, even if he doesn’t tell them.

Bucky pauses when he hears music that sounds like it should be coming from a gramophone or a dance hall.

“Hey – you recognize this?” Steve asks when he notices Bucky’s pause.

He starts to nod, stops, shrugs instead. “It sounds familiar.”

“It’s classic jazz,” Sam says from his spot, his brush still sweeping against the wall. “Came out around your time.”

Steve nods. “Early 30’s. We were teenagers.”

“Wow,” Barton says dryly. “That’s hard to imagine.”

“Did I dance to this?” Bucky asks, because it sounds like something someone would dance to and Steve had already talked about his apparent skill and interest in the matter.

“Yeah. I think you were around 15 when we first heard the song. We snuck into the dancehall one night and it was playing.”

“Wait, you danced?” Sam asks, shocked.

“Bucky did.” Steve starts explaining to Sam and to Natasha and Barton when their attention is piqued, so he goes back to painting and listens to the song as it ends and a new, more modern one begins.

“You still got the moves, Barnes?” Sam asks with a grin. Bucky can’t imagine that he can remember the dance steps, but he knows he can probably move just as well or better than the people in the videos, mostly because of his enhanced body and skills.

Still – “No.” Now that he has feelings, he’s not interested in embarrassment.

Sam laughs. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

They paint until Steve’s stomach growls so loudly that he  _must_ be starving – or so Barton claims, most likely for his own benefit.

“I’m in the mood for takeout,” Natasha announces. Nobody complains.

They discuss their wants among each other, listing off food items and then changing their minds several times. Sam insists he needs to go with them because he just can’t decide and looking at the menu in person will spur him along. Steve, unsurprisingly, elects to stay with Bucky after suggesting he try something simple, like orange chicken and chow mein.

The three leave with a promise of extra fortune cookies.

Steve drops the paint brush as if he’s tired, though Bucky knows he isn’t, and wipes his hands on his faded jeans, making a mess of them. It’s so familiar, like he used to do the same when they were kids. Steve’s mother would always give him a scolding for rubbing paints or charcoals on his clothing, but did her best to wash them up and never made her son feel too bad about it. There’s no one to tell Steve to take better care of his pants anymore.

“Should use a rag,” Bucky comments idly. He ends up wiping his own fingertips against the sweatpants he doesn’t really like.

Steve’s eyebrow rises and his lip twitches with amusement. “I can get the stains out,” he says, like he knows what exactly Bucky had remembered.

They hang up the clothes together, with Steve doing most of the work, and then Bucky folds all of the undergarments and sticks them in the dresser while Steve watches from the edge of the bed. It’s more peaceful than it should be.

“Natasha’s right,” Steve says after a period of silence, his eyes darting over the half-colored walls. “You should put some pictures up.” He pauses, thinking of what he wants to share. “It’s good to get personal. I still struggle with that. I still draw sometimes, not like before, and mostly just random things. But…I have friends now, people I can care about again. They’re always taking pictures, y'know?” He laughs a little and the affection is clear. “Some are in frames; I just never got around to putting ‘em up. Never really felt like I was in a place I wanted to call home.” His blue eyes meet Bucky’s. They shine like he’s seeing a miracle. “You’re here. You’re here and I’m here, and – I’d never tell Tony, but this place is the first in a long time to feel like comfort.”

“But not home?” Bucky wonders.

“It could be. Anywhere you are is. It took a while to figure that out.”

It’s too much for him to handle. There are too many feelings after being numb for so long. He knows Steve understands.

“I know it’s a lot. I’m sorry. But it’s – it’s so good to see you again, Buck. You have no idea.”

Bucky’s lip curves up sentimentally. “I might.” He turns back towards Steve, just barely, only letting half of his face show. “I was never waiting for anything, never really looking, but on the bridge – when you said my name, for a second I knew it was  _my_ name. And just for a second, I knew you.”

“You do know me,” Steve assures, reverent, like Bucky needs the anchor or he might forget and disappear again.

“But I didn’t when I saw you after, not when I shot you or when I was gonna beat you to death. You told me to finish it… you wouldn’t fight back. You wouldn’t – I remember saying you were too dumb to back down. No matter how big the guy or how many of ‘em there were, you kept at it, never stopped, never gave up. Why would you let me kill you?”

Steve stands and moves closer, hands shoved in his pockets, stops only when he’s a couple feet away. “I needed to make you remember me,” he tells him. “If you couldn’t, and I had to lose you all over again… well, there’d me nothing left for me.”

It’s all Bucky who reaches out, pressing his flesh fingertips against Steve’s cheek to push his face away, smiling tightly in order to hide the mix of emotions threatening to show. Steve gives a laugh, the response Bucky had been hoping for, and swats his friend’s hand. It’s like they’re kids again; he can remember the feelings, but not the events. He thinks that it doesn’t really matter, not when Steve’s looking at him like he’s complete for the first time in his life.

Bucky doesn’t feel so broken.

Natasha, Sam, and Barton come back with plenty of food, which explains Tony and Banner following behind them. They all sit towards the center of the room, a few of them leaning up against the bed. Bucky is silent as he eats (he’s the first one done, hungrier than he thought) and listens to the conversations blending over one another.

He realizes that he trusts all of the people here and let’s himself feel comfort instead of fear.

As promised, there's a bag filled with little packages of fortune cookies. Natasha explains to him that you open them up because there’s a piece of paper inside, which is your so-called fortune. Barton tells him that they taste really good, choosing to specify that he means the cookies and not the fortunes.

The first cookie he opens tells him  _the great joy in life is doing what people say you cannot do_. The second says  _everything will now come your way._  He takes a third, and not just because he likes the taste. The message is  _you are just beginning to live_.

Bucky feels like he has to have one more, has to know what else some stupid paper has to offer him, so he grabs the one closest to his foot, opens it, and reads the tiny words carefully. 

_You are the guiding star of his existence._

He slips that one into his pocket for safe keeping.

__________________________________________

It’s a different routine the days after the room is painted blue and ready for him to sleep in. He finishes one glove and starts work on the other, starts using the kitchen to get things like cereal or a sandwich when he realizes he needs to eat more than he has been. He leaves the few outfits he had been given after various showers on the closet floor, next to his uniform, and tries out the other clothing items. The mirror in the bathroom isn’t ignored as much, but is still avoided most of the time.

He runs with Sam, spars with Natasha, and forces himself to talk with Banner if he’s had a particularly bad day. Bucky knows Steve tries not to coddle, but he’s around often, even if it’s just to watch from afar.

Bucky ignores him sometimes, when he feels overwhelmed, which starts happening a lot more even though the memories don’t come any faster. It’s these days that he feels like an imposter, something trapped inside a body of a dead man. It’s one of the reasons he keeps his hair long. He knows he never used to wear it that way, so it makes this version of him unique. When he stares into the mirror, though, he sees that it’s now too long for his liking. Metal fingers comb through the wavy mess of brown hair. It’s time for the trim Natasha mentioned.

JARVIS tells him that Steve is in his apartment, so that’s where Bucky goes. Steve twists on the couch to smile at him when he arrives.

“Can you cut my hair?”

His request is immediate and out of nowhere and it catches Steve off-guard. He stares at Bucky for a moment before turning to shut the television off with the remote. Standing, he questions, “You sure you want me to? Natasha might –”

“You,” Bucky insists.

He sits on top of the toilet, face to the wall and back to Steve, hair brushed back by gentle fingers. His own fingers twitch atop his thighs at the thought of scissors being so close to his body, but he doesn’t get defensive, only tenses a little.

“How short?” Steve asks once he gets the hair bunched into his fist.

Bucky thinks for a moment. “Not short.”  _Not like before_. “A trim. Here –” His fingers jerk up and land at the nape of his neck. “But longer in the front.”

He bites down on the inside of his lip when Steve gently says ‘okay,’ like he knows Bucky needs something to hide behind still.

Neither of them says anything for a while. Steve drapes a towel over Bucky’s shoulder and then, very carefully, starts to snip at the ends, only pausing when shoulders hunch too high.

Bucky can feel the light tug of hair when Steve pulls down to cut and can hear the scissors open and close and  _snip snip snip_. Fingers rake through, grazing scalp; the sensations make him want to close his eyes. Even though he trusts Steve –  _he does_  – he can’t keep them closed for long, trying instead to watch the reflection in the glass frame of floral picture placed in front of his vision.

Steve whispers things as he cuts slowly higher. He tells Bucky that he rarely ever had really short hair, that his hair was barely able to pass regulation. There was always enough to land on his forehead when the gel didn’t hold. He wore it several ways, apparently; puffed up some days, spiky others; he’d have a side part, he’d have it slicked back, he’d let it fall in his face when it was too hot or when he worked too hard or jumped into a fight that wasn’t his.

“All done.”

Bucky runs his fingers over his head, down to the end of the new cut. He yanks a little, feeling the shortness; the hair hugs the curve of his head more, but he can still feel the tickle against his neck. Strands fall to his forehead and brush his cheekbone when he tilts his face downward. He leaves pieces against his skin and is satisfied when he can tuck other strands securely behind his ear.

Steve stands back, the scissors out of his hand and on the windowsill, allowing Bucky to shirk the towel off and take a glance in the mirror. He looks less like the Soldier but not quite exactly like the face at the museum. It’s good.

__________________________________________

Bucky takes showers more often, nearly every day, and the water is always as cold as it can be. He realizes that he dreams less when the room is cold, too, so he has JARVIS change the temperature. He sleeps either ramrod straight or curled up into a ball, still atop the covers, and never without easy visual of the door.

Steve notices the climate change and comments about it one morning when he stops by in an attempt to recruit Bucky as a jogging partner around the gym. He doesn’t tell Steve.

He runs in the gear Sam got for him, feeling more comfortable. Steve has a competitive spirit and it forces them to push each other harder. No one can tell who is faster. Sam finds it amusing.

He’s able to control himself better when he spars with Natasha again, reels back his strength so as not to hurt her. It’s a big challenge to take her down non-lethally, so he finds himself on the mat more often than not because Natasha can kill  _and_ subdue. She pushes at him, makes him irritated so that he lunges every time she smirks, and then he’s down again because of the maneuver he taught her so long ago. She’s a master at it, better than he ever was, and it suits her perfectly.

He has a temper, though, and the more he goes down the angrier he gets. He doesn’t mean to hurt her, but when she hops up onto his shoulders, ready to throw him down with her thighs, he rolls backwards, slamming her into the ground, and tosses her away like a ragdoll. She hits the wall, hard, and it’s enough to make his body go limp with sickening fear.

“ _Tasha_!”

Barton’s voice is the one Bucky hears, up from the vents. He slips down and runs to the woman on the floor, careful not to touch her until she rolls over on her own.

“Just my wrist,” she tells him, trying to be nonchalant. “I’m  _fine_.”

Barton looks back at Bucky with a look that’s not meant to be a glare but is anyway.

“It’s not your fault,” Steve says from his side. It makes Bucky clench his teeth in anger.

Natasha has no hard feelings, but she does have a sprained wrist. Barton watches Bucky with eyes that are far more focused than what should be possible.

Steve tries to be comforting.

It’s only a few days later when Bucky has another incident.

He’d opened his eyes one morning, unsure if he had even gotten any sleep. He saw things – things that looked like before the war but could’ve been compared to the Soldier’s behavior. He saw blurs of fake smiles and blank eyes, lips shiny with booze. He could feel, so strongly, the pangs that came after impressions of bright grins directed at him, the clearness when looking through a scope and the satisfaction of a targeted kill. He could feel light in his veins and dark in his bones, a war inside the body that fought the war all around. 

He didn’t eat the breakfast that was brought up to his floor, didn’t move beyond sitting himself up for the whole day. Steve had come to find him this way, staring blankly at the wall. He asked why Bucky wasn’t eating today, suggested they go sit on the couch down the hall if he didn’t feel like leaving his apartment. Bucky didn’t reply.

“JARVIS, can you turn up the heat?”

He’s up on his feet with his fingers curling around Steve’s neck before he can think. His friend isn’t caught off guard, but he doesn’t fight back, doesn’t try to dodge or get away from the attack. He grips the metal wrist instead, trying to make eye contact.

“Buck –” Steve manages to choke out. “S’me. St –”

He coughs and sucks in air when the metal hand releases him. Wearily, he asks, “Steve?” The face of his old friend is the first thing he sees that day.

Doctor Banner asks Bucky about what happened, is patient when he can’t offer an answer. He tries to say that there was nothing, he was just out of it. He wasn’t careful enough.

“Do you keep your room cold because it reminds you of being frozen?”

Bucky knows the question is Steve’s.

“I didn’t think that’d be something you’d want to remember.”

There’s something about Banner that makes him want to speak.

“I had periods of awareness when they’d put me under,” he starts slowly, running his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t have too much to think about, compared to now, and I...”

“You’d rather feel empty?” Banner asks, without judgment or cajoling, just calmness that’s enviable.

“Sometimes.”

Banner nods, like he understands completely. “Does this have anything to do with Steve?” Bucky looks away. “Is he pushing too hard?”

“ _No_ ,” he answers immediately, fiercely. “No, he – he tries not to do anything that’ll upset me. He makes excuses and won’t fight back when I hurt him. It’s messing me up, I think, ‘cause I feel like that’s not how he used to be. It’d be better if he pushed harder. Didn’t treat me like a victim.”

“Being a victim doesn’t represent weakness,” Banner tells him. “You can’t be held responsible for things you were brainwashed into doing, especially when they took away who you were and forced you to become something else.”

His heart sinks when he realizes that, after all, no one understands him.

__________________________________________

Bucky doesn’t sleep or eat for another day, doesn’t talk to Sam or Natasha or Bruce, especially not Steve. He doesn’t knit.

He can hear someone mention regression as they try to coax Steve into leaving the spot he chose to sit at; on the floor with his back pressed against Bucky’s door, like some damn loyal dog. Bucky doesn’t have the heart to tell Steve to shove off.

Maybe that’s the problem. He doesn’t have a heart. Not anymore.

__________________________________________

Bucky gets  _lonely_ (part of him is still disgusted by this) on the third day of choosing to stay locked up inside his room. He’s hungry and tired, unable to sleep properly for reasons he can’t understand; there aren’t any dreams or nightmares, just his thoughts. He supposes thoughts are worse than the nightmares sometimes.

He can’t stop thinking.

__________________________________________

There’s an air vent like the one in the gym that Bucky spots when he steps out of the shower. He’d noticed it before, of course, but now it has some appeal. It’s smaller, he can barely fit in it, but he pushes through and crawls until he finds Steve’s room again. He knows it’s unnecessary because he’s been given unrestricted access (which he decides is a stupid idea now that he’s had time to think about it), but he can’t shake his need to go unseen.

Steve is not inside his apartment, so Bucky waits with his back pressed to Steve’s bedroom door. Loyalty has always been their fault. He knows that, and it’s scary that he does.

When Steve moves cautiously around the corner, blue eyes landing on the hunched figure on the floor, Bucky starts to understand what’s bothering him. “You’re trying to fix what HYDRA broke, but they didn’t. Some of who I am now was already there.”

Steve watches his friend, feeling frustrated and worried, and he can’t keep either emotion out of his voice when he asks, “What do you mean?”

“It was always there,” Bucky croaks out, like it’s a revelation. “Since the war. Maybe – probably even before.”

Steve inches closer, not understanding. “What, Bucky?”

His body tenses, his eyes darting up to look, but he doesn’t really see. “Things were  _normal_  before I left. I remember that. I was just a dumb kid going off to war and the only thing that got me through the night was knowing you were far away from that mess, as safe as possible without me there watching your back. But Zola’s cronies came marching in, killing until there were only a few of us left to take. I thought – prisoner of war? Chances of making it out are slim, but still there, so I fought… for me, for the boys like me. For you.” Bucky watches Steve with sadness in his eyes, but the anger and the loathing behind it is frightening, disturbing. “I was one of the first they took back. I know they did stuff to me, that it hurt like hell and sometimes I thought about dying, maybe even begged them to do it – I can’t remember. But then – then sometimes it was different. I was so confused, I didn’t know what was going on, I didn’t know which way was up with all the prodding. But I could see them and when they got me up a couple of times, to make me do something, I guess, I don’t know, but… when they got me up, I was like an animal. The only thing I thought about was killing. Not getting out, not getting back home; just – just ripping their throats out with my teeth. And I did.”

Steve, though he tries, can’t hide the horror on his face. Bucky was expecting it, but he takes it the bad way, takes it like Steve is so disgusted with him, how would he not be?

Steve’s horror is  _for_  Bucky, not because of him.

“You’d think it was so I could get out of there,” Bucky says, forcing out something that would be a laugh if it weren’t so disturbed. “It wasn’t. I did it because I thought they’d finally put me down. I didn’t feel human anymore. But they didn’t kill me, they just kept going, like watching me kill their own men was what they wanted. Then I’d be on the table again, drugged to hell, and I’d remember what I did for a while until it just shut down and there was nothing but fear. I started feeling like I couldn’t even remember who I was, but I tried, even when they didn’t want me to. And then you came and – I couldn’t remember you,” he says, nearly choking over his words like they hurt coming out of his throat. “For a minute, I couldn’t place you. Maybe it was ‘cause you weren’t the same, you were bigger and you were  _there_ when you weren’t supposed to be, and then you said my name and it came back, but it wasn’t the  _same_.”

“I know you struggled,” Steve says carefully, as gently as he can. “You had nightmares that you wouldn’t talk about and every time I asked if you were okay, you said you were, but you weren’t and I knew that. I trusted you to tell me if you really needed help and I trusted you to have my back like you always did. I trusted you with my life and you protected it, never failed or quit. You were right there with me, fighting just as hard –  _harder_ … So I know you struggled, but maybe your memories –”

“ _No_ ,” Bucky says, and it’s harsh, feral, and stubborn like the set of his jaw and the fire in his icy eyes.  “No, Steve. I remember this part. I remember now better than ever, and I’m telling you that it was  _there_.”

“What was?” Steve asks again, desperately. “What are you getting at, Bucky?”

“When we were there together, I had your back. It was just like before, but it  _wasn’t._  I didn’t feel anything when I gunned down the bastards that were coming for you.”

“It was  _war_ , Bucky,” Steve tries. “You said that yourself, remember? It wasn’t a back alley, it was war. You had to kill to keep yourself and everyone else around you alive. That’s what soldiers do.”

“You don’t get it!” Bucky yells, and his voice cracks and his fingers clench into fists. “I did things to men that you would  _never_  do, when you weren’t around watching me. It was instinct and I never felt bad about it, not even when I was careful enough to keep it away from you.”

Steve’s own hands are making fists now and he’s desperate to help, to make his hurting friend understand. “That was still after Zola, Bucky. That wasn’t you.”

Steve knows it’s the wrong thing to say when he sees Bucky’s face go blank, the dead-eye stare making him ache.

“It wasn’t me then, it’s not me now. Maybe Bucky died the moment he left you back in Brooklyn.”

Steve opens his mouth, his body filling with regret, and he wants to say ‘ _That’s not what I meant, I’m sorry.’_  He doesn’t.

“I did the dirty work for  _Captain America_ ,” Bucky continues dryly, mocking Steve’s title. And then after a pause, quietly, brokenly, “I did the dirty work for Steve.”

Bucky can tell that Steve feels like his heart is breaking. “Are you saying it’s my fault?” It’s a quiet sentence with no accusations, but Bucky knows what Steve thinks – that it  _is_ his fault, that it always was and will never stop being his fault. 

“No. I’m saying that I would’ve done things then for you, like I did things for  _them_. I’m saying that it was always – there was always a piece of me that wasn’t as good, like something in the dark waiting for the right moment to come out. You just never saw it.”

Steve breathes in deeply like his body is starved for air and, hesitantly, sits down next to his tense friend. Bucky feels empty.

“I don’t know what that’s like,” he says softly. “I’ve never felt like that, but it doesn’t make you less or – or, I don’t know. It sure as hell doesn’t make you  _bad_. People do things that aren’t so great – _I_ have.” Bucky looks away at the words, and rolls his tear-filled eyes, but Steve pulls him back by gripping his wrist. “You’re my best friend, Bucky. Always have been, always will be, no matter how the world changes or how different we become. I didn’t realize it, but now I do, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I make you into more than one person just to excuse your actions. It wasn’t your fault, what HYDRA did and made you do, but you were still there and that doesn’t change, and maybe I couldn’t think about that, but now, I promise, I won’t forget it. You’re James Buchanan Barnes, you’re Bucky. You’ve never been anyone else. Not before Zola, not after – not then, and not now. You’re always protecting me and it’s like, when I try to do the same, I just screw it up.”

Bucky’s been staring down at the fingers curved around his wrists until now, when he decides to look up at Steve’s face, straight into the eyes of his best friend.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, with such sincerity that it makes the tears fall from Bucky’s eyes and slide right down his cheeks. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to hide from me when you needed help and I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, Bucky, I’ll never regret anything more than that. But we’re here. Somehow, we’re here. It’s a second chance. I’ll never stop thanking God that we could get that after everything. I’ll never stop being grateful that I have you back.”

Bucky sniffs and pulls his wrist away, only to grab Steve’s hand in his, clasping it between flesh and metal.

“It’s  _hard_ ,” he admits to Steve, as honest as he’s ever been. “You talk about me like I was the best damn thing in the world. You make me sound like I was so perfect, and I  _know_ I wasn’t, but how can I not believe you? I feel like I’ll never get close to that again ‘cause I’m too far gone.”

“No one’s perfect, Bucky. Not even you.” There’s a sad smile on Steve’s lips and his eyes shine with solemn mirth.

“Tell me,” Bucky says haggardly. “Tell me the bad stuff, what you couldn’t stand about me. Make me real.  _Please_.”

Steve shifts and takes a breath.

He tells him about when they were kids getting into trouble, how Bucky’d only ever listen to his mother and Steve, who turned out to be the troublemaker of the two. There was a period where he’d get spankings from his father nearly every day because he’d sass anyone he came in contact with until he learned how to be respectful. His temper flared a lot when they were teenagers and Steve decided to be even more rebellious, which was just another word for stupid as Bucky had once said.

Steve tells him that he picked up smoking for a year, quit cold turkey, and started drinking more than he could hold no matter how much he promised otherwise.

“You were a sulky drunk,” he says, “Real surly when I made you sleep on the couch because you couldn’t keep your damn hands to yourself.”

Bucky never liked Steve knowing when he was in a bad mood and spent a lot of time trying to make things nice and easy for them despite all the hardships, which led to various arguments about one thing or another. Bucky would try to be placating at first, when they started getting to know each other, but quickly learned that anything less than a raised voice made Steve even angrier because he’d take it as being pitied or babied. So while Bucky didn’t often yell, he’d try to argue with an insufferable Steve for as long as he could.

And instead of talking about his problems (which neither of them liked to do, Steve admits honestly), Bucky would bury them deep inside.

“I could hear you praying sometimes, when I was sick enough to be dead,” Steve says quietly. “You said I was imagining things when I brought it up once. And that was a thing. You’d lie, about where you’d go or what you were doing or how you got things, especially about how you came up with medicine or food when all the money went to rent. And I know you went through my sketches when I wasn’t looking and took the ones I threw in the trash, so you were sneaky if you wanted to be.”

Steve recounts how Bucky once jumped into a pretty serious fight Steve had gotten himself into when some guy pulled a knife. “I was so scared and mad, I ended up punching you in the face, right on your fat mouth, and you gave me the dirtiest look. I’d never seen it directed at me before. But you never hit me.”

Bucky knows that people bullied Steve because he was small and sickly, an easy target. So, as Steve got older, he pushed back; started speaking his mind without any thought for the consequences. And he never ran away, always stuck it out even if it meant getting beaten to death in some back alley.

Bucky’s flaws are starting to sound a lot like compliments now, but he can’t mind too much.

“You were so loyal it was stupid,” Steve says, finally stopping to breathe “I guess I should talk. I would’ve done anything for you, Bucky. Would do anything for you right now. That’s never changed.”

“I sound like a real jackass,” Bucky murmurs sarcastically, but there’s something like relief in his voice. Steve smiles and bumps their shoulders together.

“I guess so, if all you wanna hear is the bad. But Bucky Barnes was a real sweetheart, too. Best man I ever knew.”

“There you go again,” he says grumpily, but his lips twitch into a gentle, almost adoring smile. “I was just starting to believe I’m the same guy you used to know and then you go and ruin it.”

“Come on, Bucky. I think you’re just embarrassed because you  _know_  the good outweighs the bad and it doesn’t fit with your new personality.”

Bucky snorts and kicks his foot against Steve’s ankle. His friend grins.

“Can I say the things I like most about you?” he says after a quiet moment, his voice as hopeful as his face. Bucky is wary, doesn’t really want to hear how good Steve thought and thinks he is, but he can’t say no, can never say no. He shrugs instead. Steve takes that as a yes. “You were always smiling. Let me draw you even when you didn’t have the patience,” he starts.

He describes the old Bucky as cocky, though Steve suspects it was mostly for show. He’d always asked how he looked before he went on dates or out looking for work. “Always good,” Steve tells him, “You had to know, but I think you just liked hearing me say it because then you’d preen and smile like a loon just to get my mind off feeling useless.”

“And I remember,” he goes on, “there was an older lady in the building we shared and you’d dance with her sometimes because she was lonely. She had us over for dinner before she passed."

It was hard for Bucky to leave Steve out of things, even when the smaller man insisted he’d go dancing with one of his girls or go out drinking with one of the guys he worked with. He’d always try to get Steve to come, would whine about it until Steve would either cave or push him out the door and slam it in his face.

“And you always took care of me when I was sick or beat up and angry, especially when I was too proud to admit needing it, and you never let me feel alone. I never said, but after my mom died… you were all I had. All I needed, if I’m honest, and you were the reason for a long time why I never gave up. You inspired me constantly, went out of your way to make me laugh even if it made you look stupid, pushed me because you knew I could take it, pulled back when you knew I couldn’t, and you coddled, you did, but you were the only person for such a long time to ever treat me like a man and a real human being.”

He can go on; Bucky sees that he will, so he stops him with a pinch to his arm and a smile so wide that it hurts his face. But it doesn’t take long for it to slip and he finds himself faced with his earlier dilemma.

“But when you think about Bucky… when you think about  _me_. Steve, are you so wracked with guilt that you only wanna focus on the good things?”

Steve’s head is tilted as he stares at Bucky, his hands dangling over his raised knees. They search each other’s eyes, trying to understand everything about each other. “No.” It’s honest, always honest. “No, I just never saw the sides you think are bad.”

“I guess you were kinda busy, fighting a war and all.”

Steve smiles a little, genuine but small. “That’s not what I meant,” he says. Bucky raises a brow in question. “I went into the war without a desire to kill, but the obligation to do so. That’s what you do when you’re a soldier. But when I lost you… I swore I’d kill them all. I told Peggy I wouldn’t stop until they were all dead or captured, and I meant it. I wanted to be a good man, tried to believe that I was, but even the best men have their breaking points. And you were mine. So when you say you tried to hide things from me, you really weren’t. I saw it, Bucky. I watched you like a damn hawk, so don’t think I didn’t see the way you looked when you were gunning people from your post. It worried me, but it was something I told myself we’d get to once we won.” He smiles a again, a short laugh falling from his lips. “And here we are, 70 years later, finally talking about it.”

“So you understand,” Bucky says with a nervous swallow, “that when I say I’ll never be the guy you knew before the war, I mean it, and it’s because I stopped being him a long time before I fell off that train.”

Steve has a pinched expression, but his eyes are so open that it makes Bucky need to catch his breath. “Yeah,” he says, and he nods. “Yeah, Bucky, I understand, and I have to tell you, I’m not that same kid you’d follow into death anymore either. We both changed. I just don’t want you to have any false ideas about who we are now.”

With a breath leaving his parted lips and his head lolling back against the door, Bucky reaches his metal hand out and gently wraps his fingers around Steve’s.

“ _At once a voice arose among the bleak twigs overhead, in a full-hearted evensong of joy illimited. An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, in blast-beruffled plume, had chosen thus to fling his soul upon the growing gloom_ _,”_ Bucky says quietly, closing his eyes. _“So little cause for carolings of such ecstatic sound was written on terrestrial things afar or nigh around, that I could think there trembled through his happy goodnight air. Some blessed hope, whereof he knew, and I was unaware.”_

Bucky was never much for poetry, knows that hasn’t changed, but he remembers this one because it reminded him of someone special, and it reminds him of that same person now, so many years later, as if they were supposed to grow farther into it all along.

“I take it I’m the thrush?” Steve whispers back, a smile in his voice. “Aged, frail, gaunt, and small, huh? That’s how you see me?”

“That’s how you used to be. On the outside, I mean. And on the inside, you had a lot of hope. You still do. So you’re big, right? But I still see that little guy sometimes, and life’s made cynics of us, but you’re still leading the world. Leading me somewhere I didn’t know I could go anymore.” Bucky rolls his head against the door, hair falling onto his face, fingers still clasped around Steve’s. “I’m starting to figure it out.”

Steve smiles at Bucky, slow and soft, and then he leans forward until his forehead presses against his friend’s temple. “Didn’t know you liked that poem,” he says quietly, an ease in his voice that hasn’t been around for a long time.

“Just something I remembered. Didn’t like it much ‘til now,” Bucky admits. Then, teasingly, “Didn’t like you much ‘til now, either.”

Steve lets out a breath that fans across Bucky’s cheek, makes his closed-lip smile widen. “You’re a jerk.” It’s said without a thought, but it touches something deep in the corner of Bucky’s mind, of his heart.

“And you’re a punk. S’good to know some things  _can’t_  change.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs. “It’s good to know.”

__________________________________________

When he emerges from his apartment floor, without using the air vents, for the first time in days, he’s approached by Barton. “We’re watching a movie,” he states, his narrowed eyes not unfriendly. “You wanna join?”

Bucky accepts.

He follows Barton to the rec room in silence that isn’t uncomfortable. He figures he’s forgiven for the incident with Natasha.

Banner is on a large leather couch next to Tony. Natasha is on his left and Barton takes the seat next to her. There are two loveseats on either side of the larger couch and Steve occupies one of them, leaving a spot for Bucky, as if he was saving it; but before Bucky can claim his spot, his eyes land on the other loveseat. Sam is there, who turns to give him a wave and a smile, but there’s another man next to him who has long blond hair and muscular bared arms.

“Bucky, this is Thor,” Steve introduces, only leaning forward slightly to gesture. The other blond man turns to see who’s behind him and then stands slowly, offering a gentle smile. “Thor,” Steve continues, “this is my old friend Bucky.”

“I’ve heard your tales of battle,” Thor says in a deep, accented voice. “It is nice to meet you, Bucky. A friend of Steve is a friend of mine.”

His eyes flicker to Steve, who is giving him an encouraging smile, so he looks back to Thor and nods, relieved that the man doesn’t offer a hand to shake.

“He’s a god,” Tony pipes up when Thor reseats himself and Bucky begins to move towards the only empty spot. “From outer space. Controls lightning and thunder.”

Tony grins when Bucky gives him an odd look.

“There’re other worlds out there, Bucky, like in those stories you used to like. It’s crazy,” Steve says and all of his attention is on Bucky, as is his soft smile.

“We’re all a little crazy,” Barton pipes up from beside Natasha, and Bucky can’t help but agree.

They watch a cartoon. No explosions, no gunfire, no killing. There’s still an evil villain, but there always is.

And as Bucky watches the film that’s made for children, he finds that he has more in common with the thief (who turns out to be a hero that nearly dies trying to save the person he loves) than with the antagonist. The princess is naïve and optimistic, but she has a strong spirit and strength of character, and it reminds Bucky of Steve.

“An inspiring tale,” Thor says happily from his seat, though he looks a little sad after a moment. “It is nice to see magic being used for truly good purposes.”

“Too much singing,” Tony says. “I liked the horse.”

“You two were kindred spirits,” Steve agrees with a teasing smile that gets Tony to roll his eyes.

Barton snorts and then says, absently, “I liked the girl when she had short hair.”

Bucky doesn’t miss the way Natasha’s lip quirks.

“Speaking of magic,” Thor says in his deep, calming voice. His ageless eyes land on Bucky. “Your situation is one I feel I could help with.”

Steve shifts on the couch, pulling his arm away from the back, curious and cautious. “Help with what, exactly?”

Thor addresses Steve when he speaks next. “You’ve informed me of the plight your friend carries because of the enemy. I do not stand for such acts. You are my friends and I wish to help, in any way I can.” He hesitates then, but only for a brief moment. “The Tesseract –”

“No.” The answer is immediate and fierce and from Steve. Everyone, including Bucky, has eyes on the blond man. He does not buckle under the weight of all the gazes. “No,” he says again, just as strongly. “That cube’s cost this world a lot of lives. I can’t let you bring it back here.”

“I understand,” Thor says in a voice that confirms he  _does_. “It is merely a suggestion, and an offer to show my appreciation of everyone in this room.”

“It’s a noble offer,” Natasha reassures, almost warily, as she glances between Steve and Bucky.

Banner voices his opinion next. “I’m with Steve on this. The cube can control minds, open portals for invasions –”

“Create weapons,” Steve cuts in. “Schmidt, Loki – there’s no shortage of power hungry dictators, no matter the year or the cause.”

“Well, hang on,” Tony declares. “Is anyone studying that thing? Wherever you put it, someone’s bound to hit the jackpot. We should try to get a better read on it.”

Steve crosses his arms tightly over his chest. “Howard couldn’t understand it –”

Tony interrupts Steve’s thoughts like an angry child. “Don’t confuse me with your friend from the old days, Rogers.”

It’s Barton who says, “S’that the only magic that can get the guys memories back? If it is, sorry, but we can’t let that happen.”

And then Natasha who replies, “It shouldn’t be up to us.”

Steve stops arguing with Tony long enough to address the new issue. “Who should it be up to? We’ve all seen some of the things that cube can do. We’d be jeopardizing the lives of millions by bringing it back to earth when HYDRA’s still around the corner.”

“I did not mean to cause an argument.”

Bucky doesn’t understand what anyone is talking about, what this Tesseract is or how it can help him. He doesn’t like the arguing, so he says, loud and commanding, “Shut the hell up!”

He remembers the title  _Sergeant_  in front of his name and thinks  _maybe I was_ when everyone obeys almost instantly.

He looks around, metal hand clenched into a fist, and heaves a breath. “What’s a Tesseract?”

“Bucky,” Steve says quietly as he twists on the loveseat. “I don’t know if you remember this part, but HYDRA had weapons powered by this cube – it’s called the Tesseract. Their guns fired these blue beams that disintegrated people. And then just a couple of years ago someone used it to send an alien invasion down on New York. It’s a dangerous weapon.”

“It has only been used as such,” Thor stresses. “The Tesseract can be used for great things if handled with the best of intentions. I offer its services because I have fought in battle beside you and know the goodness in your hearts.”

Bucky, with his brows furrowed in confusion and his lips in a frown, looks away from Steve for a moment in order to catch Thor’s eye. “How would it help me?”

“The Tesseract works far beyond what any of us know, but I have heard tales from my father of the restorative power it possesses. There’s a possibility that the magic could help mend your mind, but more so, return your stolen memories.”

Bucky feels as if he can’t get enough air suddenly. Some magical item could restore him? He could be whole again? It was possible?

Steve knows what Bucky is thinking. He can’t hide the heartbreak on his face. “Buck… I can’t –”

“It’s my choice,” he says, and he doesn’t mean it to come out so desperately but it does. Steve’s jaw clenches at the wording. “I can get my memories back, all of ‘em. After so long of not being able to – I  _want_  this.”

“You don’t have to remember everything,” Steve tries. “You’re doing fine the way you are. Involving magic, after what we’ve seen it can do… I  _can’t_.”

“It’s not up to you.” Bucky turns away from him, indignant, and stares at an apologetic looking Thor.

“Well, it’s not just up to  _you_ ,” Steve insists with his hands gripping Bucky’s shoulders tightly. “As long as I’m around, that cube isn’t coming back here.”

It’s Captain America that’s talking; Bucky hears it in the words, in the tone. He hates it, but it sounds like an order telling him to drop the subject. He always listens to orders, part of him says; the other part tells him that he always listens to Steve.

“Is your concern for who may handle the Tesseract, or for what it may do to your friend?”

Thor’s words make Steve drop his hands and look away.

“If you were to handle it, no harm would come to him,” Thor tells Steve. “Your intentions are as pure as they come.”

“I just –” Steve starts, but then he sighs and places his hands on his hips. “You know I would, Bucky. I’d do it for you, but I took on a responsibility to protect people, and the Tesseract on earth is bad news.”

Before Bucky can even feel sad or sorry, Thor offers a solution. “I could bring him to Asgard.”

Tony snorts, murmurs, “Space grandpas,” and continues to be ignored.

“Is that safe?” Steve asks doubtfully.

“It is.”

“How come you’ve never invited us before, Fabio?”

“There were many issues to tend to,” Thor replies to Tony, “but you are all welcome to visit, if you wish. Asgard would be lucky to have you.”

“When?” Clint asks while chewing on some sort of candy he’d pulled out of his pocket. “SHIELD might be down, but I’ve still got things to do.”

“Whenever Bucky is ready.”

“Now?”

Steve straightens at that. “You need to think about this,” he says sternly. “There’re too many risks at play here.”

“Since when do you care about risks?” Bucky is tired of this argument already. “I’m sure there were a lotta risks with the serum, but that didn’t to stop you. You wanted me to remember. You wanted me to be like I used to, well now I can and you’re trying to stand in the way.”

He’s being petulant and he doesn’t care.

“I’m  _not_ ,” Steve insists, blue eyes wide and sad. “You need a clear head about this.”

Bucky chuckles darkly. “Well, we’d be waiting around forever then.”

Ignoring the comment, Steve continues, “You’re already remembering things. Why can’t you just wait it out?”

“Because I’m tired of feeling like I’m walking in a dead man’s body, Steve!  _Christ._ ”

Steve breathes deeply, only taking a brief pause. “You’re sounding more and more like yourself all the time. Why bring magic into it? You can get better on your own – you don’t have to remember it all, Bucky, you  _don’t_.”

“I feel like half a person,” he admits, trying to ignore all the people staring at him as he pleads his case. “I didn’t know anything until you said my name on that bridge. I get bits and pieces of the good stuff, knocked out by all the bad, and so much of it feels like I’m looking through a window. Who can live that way, and how can you expect me to? You tell me to think about the risks? I have, pal. It took me a second –  _one second_. What, my brain could get fried? I might get killed? Anything this cube can do is no worse than what’s already been done. What risk aren’t you willing to let me take?”

“Losing you,” Steve tells him straight on, broad and tall and vulnerable behind his steeled expression. “You just got back and if I lost you again… I’ve said it once already.”

Bucky remembers.

_If you couldn’t, and I had to lose you all over again… well, there’d me nothing left for me._

“You got these people,” he says quietly, weakly moving his metal arm to gesture back at the group of 6 surrounding them.

“And they’re great,” Steve says in a cracking voice, “but they aren’t you.”

Bucky nods like he understands, thinks maybe he does, in a way. Even if he can’t remember it all – if he lost Steve now, he’d be too broken to go on.

It’s a terrifying thought.

Chewing his lip for a moment, he tells his friend, “I’m doing this.” Steve isn’t surprised, but he isn’t happy either. “I’m doing this and you’ll be there, right next to me. That’s how it always was, right? Inseparable on schoolyard and battlefield.”

“Don’t quote that at me,” Steve nearly spits, hiding his fear with righteous anger. “Don’t talk about things you don’t remember.”

It’s the meanest thing Steve has said that Bucky can remember. It makes him want to know of all the times they fought before, in their own time and in their own normal lives.

Coolly, Bucky says, “Then I’ll talk to you once I do.”

It’s final. Steve will follow Bucky. It’s nothing new. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disarm // the smashing pumpkins
> 
> I didn't realize how long and all over the place this chapter was. Ended up rewriting a chunk of it and I'm still not entirely happy.
> 
> I like the idea of Bucky being really messed up during the war. He sees death and has to kill and then he gets captured, experimented on to the point of where he has to try to remember his own name, and then the guy he thought he left behind, safe at home, turns up to save him, only now he's big and strong and superhuman and doesn't need him anymore. And then following Steve into terrible situations isn't even a choice for him, for course he'll go. He becomes a sidekick to Captain America, in a lot of ways - he's the one right by his side always, even though he's a Commando too, and he feels pretty useless and invisible and unneeded, and then he dies trying to protect the most important person in his life. So yeah, that'd mess people up. I like the idea of him being a little unhinged before he was turned into the Winter Soldier.
> 
> But anyway, I have a thing for Bucky knitting and trying on clothes, but I also have a thing for Bucky keeping fortunes from fortune cookies and knowing poetry, apparently. He recites part of The Darkling Thrush by Thomas Hardy. 
> 
> And I just want to thank you guys for leaving kudos and comments. It makes me want to keep going, so I hope you're still enjoying this story.
> 
> (Also, I didn't name the movie they were watching, but I'm sure you guys can guess.)


	12. you can keep to yourself, i'll keep out of your way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor looks directly into Bucky’s eyes as he speaks. “The Tesseract wields power far beyond the knowledge of anyone in existence. It is magic that is capable of many things, and it will yield to whoever is in control.” His gaze shifts. “Steve, I have mentioned that your intentions toward your friend are pure. I believe the Tesseract would thrive most efficiently under your guidance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I never knew how much you'd want  
> to live again, with innocence  
> Like the good old days, our glory years  
> When you still were here"
> 
> &
> 
> "I woke up, I was stuck in a dream  
> You were there, you were tearing up everything  
> But we all know how to fake it, baby  
> and we all know what we've done  
> We must be killers, children of the wild ones  
> Killers, where we got left to run?"

Bucky’s venture outside of the tower is short and well-guarded. The SHIELD-but-not-SHIELD agents don’t try to restrain him or override his arm because Steve (who is angry and refuses to talk to anyone) looks disapproving enough to dissuade them.

Thor leads the way, his red cape swinging in the breeze, causing people to stop and stare and whisper. Natasha wears a hood and sunglasses, trying to go unrecognized now that all her business is apparently up in the air, and Barton wears his quiver proud like a badge, daring anyone to just try something. Tony wears a t-shirt and jeans, accompanied by sunglasses and a wide grin, and he has a small metal backpack that’s for _just in case_. Sam is as casual as always. Banner looks decidedly rumpled as he holds his hands tight, trying to take up as little room as possible on their trek to wherever Thor leads them.

Steve dresses similarly to Natasha, but with the beanie Bucky made him instead of a hood, and he looks comfortable with himself despite the disapproval radiating from his form. Bucky had chosen an outfit Steve had gotten for him; it wasn’t a form of manipulation, he justified to himself, but more like a truce. Steve ignores him, but he stays at his side and that’s just fine.

“I believe this might be disconcerting for some,” Thor tells them once they stop.

“Will one of us vomit?” Tony asks. “I feel like that might happen.”

“Who’s got the weakest stomach?” Barton quips, his eyes trained on Tony from behind his shaded glasses.

“Are you ready?” Thor scans each member of the group, reading their faces. He looks to Bucky last and gives him enough time to back out. He says nothing, just holds himself readily. “Heimdall,” Thor booms, and then it happens.

It’s so strange that Bucky can’t even process it. One minute they’re in New York and the next they’re standing on some rainbow colored bridge in _space_.

“Woo, boy,” Tony gets out while he tries not to gasp obviously for air. “Am I the only one who’s a little freaked out by there being no oxygen in space?”

Thor looks confused. “Is everyone alright? I believe the air is fit for you all…”

“It’s a panic attack,” Banner says carefully.

Tony tries to stride forward, wave his hand like it’s nothing. “It’s another _thing_ that happens, apparently,” he heaves out before crumpling to his knees. Banner is there in an instant, hands hovering in case he needs to act quickly, and Sam moves forward to ease the metal pack off of Tony’s shoulders.

“Do you want to sit or move?” Bruce asks.

“We can move, we’ll go, I just – I need one second –”

“You can have more than a second, man,” Sam reassures. “We’re in no rush.”

“Thor, can you get them somewhere else?” Steve suggests, pressing Bucky closer to Natasha, as if seeing Tony in a state of panic will trigger something in his friend.

Thor agrees and leads the way.

“Hey, yeah, let’s –” Tony struggles to get up. Banner grips his elbow gently, not guiding, just making sure he doesn’t hurt himself.

Bucky watches from where he’s at despite Natasha’s attempts to spur him forward. He hates that seeing Tony this way makes his own chest clench in panic.

“Is it space?” Sam questions.

“Yeah – let’s not go there.”

Sam doesn’t push. Instead, his eyes meet Bucky’s panicked expression and he steers Steve away.

“Tony –”

The goateed man waves him away, mumbling that he’s _fine_ , and plops onto his behind. Banner mirrors him

“Your friend’s looking a little pale there,” Sam tells Steve quietly, and it’s true.

Tony starts babbling about the black sky freaking him out, so Steve leads Bucky towards the direction that Thor had gone.

They’re standing in a large hallway with a fierce looking woman. She’s murmuring to Thor about bad ideas his father would not approve of and Steve nearly sighs in relief. But Thor is level-headed and kind, and he’s also authoritative. He takes full responsibility for the offer and declares he cannot go back on it because Bucky has already accepted, risks and uncertainties and all.

“It is locked away,” she asserts, “in a place I thought not even you knew.”

The warrior woman is placated when Thor agrees to let her follow.

The group (minus Tony, Banner, and Sam) walks through shadowy, winding hallways. It’s a huge castle filled with things fit for days older than Steve and Bucky mixed in with technology far more advanced than anything they’d seen on earth. Even Bucky entertains the thought of Tony going crazy once he’s well enough to pass through.

Thor leads them into a large room containing a fireplace, a sitting area, and walls filled with all kinds of art. Bucky watches Steve step forward with parted lips and eyes wide with awe as they roam over the framed pictures.

“Never seen Stark like that,” Barton admits after a bout of silence, rolling his shoulders.

Natasha turns to look at him from over her shoulder. “It’s gotten worse,” she tells anyone who’s listening.

“Not just since nearly dying in space?” Barton wonders.

Natasha, looking grim, shakes her head.

“Well,” he breathes, kicking the front of his boot against what looks to be a marble floor, “He’s in the wrong business.”

Quietly, with his hands shoved into pockets and his blue eyes roaming over the wall before him, Steve replies, “We all are.”

__________________________________________

When Thor and the warrior woman (Lady Sif, Bucky hears) come back, the other three have rejoined the group. No one mentions Tony’s panic attack; no one even looks at him funny. Bucky feels relieved for him.

Steve, however, is tense, like he’s ready for a fight, and Bucky can’t help but feel sorry.

Thor’s holding an open box that contains a bright blue glowing cube. Bucky remembers flashes of blue, the horror of seeing men dissolve against the light. He can feel a ghost-helmet clunk against his head, thinks he might even hear screams echoing in his mind.

The cube makes him anxious and hysterical and irrationally (or, perhaps, _very_ rationally) angry. His fists are clenched before he even knows it.

Thor looks directly into Bucky’s eyes as he speaks. “The Tesseract wields power far beyond the knowledge of anyone in existence. It is magic that is capable of many things, and it will yield to whoever is in control.” His gaze shifts. “Steve, I have mentioned that your intentions toward your friend are pure. I believe the Tesseract would thrive most efficiently under your guidance.”

Bucky knows that Steve wants to refuse, that he doesn’t want anything to do with the cube, doesn’t want to touch it or be involved after seeing the consequences of its magic. But it’s Steve, and it’s Bucky who wants the help.

Reluctantly, and after a deep breath, Steve steps forward until he’s in front of cube. Lady Sif pulls a large chair up for Bucky to sit in as Steve glares at the Tesseract as if he could just will it out of existence. Part of Bucky thinks that Steve probably could.

“When it’s over,” he hears his friend say, low and even, “I never want to see this thing again. Alright?”

It’s a question for anyone and everyone. He gets nothing but agreements.

Steve reaches out with gloved hands, ready to pluck the cube from its resting place, before he stops and looks back up. “The last man I saw grab this, he ended up disappearing.”

“You may feel pain,” Thor informs him, “but the Tesseract will recognize your purpose and keep you here.”

“Do any of us need to say anything?”

Thor shrugs a little, unsure himself. “It could not hurt.”

Steve’s hands hover over the cube as he says over his shoulder, “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Yeah,” is all Bucky can reply.

When Steve’s fingers grip the cube and pull it out, a high-pitched sound hums through the air. Steve grimaces and the gloves – maybe even the skin under them – starts to smoke, but he holds on tight and turns to face Bucky, bending down low right in front of the chair. Bucky can only stare at Steve’s face, pale bathed under the glow, and his eyes are bluer than what’s natural, ethereal under the cube’s influence.

And then Bucky’s sight falls to the center of the cube, unable to even blink as Steve speaks clearly.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he states like before. “A soldier, a Sergeant in the 107th, a Howling Commando, and my best friend.”

Bucky can barely make out the strain in Steve’s voice over the screeching in his head. He feels as if his bones are vibrating, like his brain is being squeezed, like he can’t breathe because there’s a weight on or in his chest, clutching at his heart. He thinks he might throw up, maybe even cry under the sudden pressure surrounding him.

Steve chokes out more words over his obvious pain. “You need to remember your life, Bucky. Remember who you were so you can be whoever you want. Remember everything.”

He doesn’t know whose screaming until he feels the wear on his throat. He feels his body shaking, _convulsing_ , only when he hits the ground. There’s no time to clutch at his head, to try to stop it from splitting in half.

There’s a breathy, pained sound from Steve that seems to echo in the room. Bucky’s eyes only leave the cube once it hits the ground, and then he sees Steve slump forward, his head surrounded by the glow. Bucky can’t really feel the tears slip from his eyes or hear the ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ that he whimpers, but he can hear the panicked shouts from the room, can see slow-moving bodies in his peripheral before everything freezes and he can’t feel anything at all.

Steve is on the floor, his hands splayed out. The palms and the fingertips of the gloves are gone, revealing reddened flesh. It’s the last thing Bucky sees before blackness shrouds his vision.

__________________________________________

There are German words and Russian words being whispered in his head. He knows them all but cannot understand.

There’s a mission.

__________________________________________

The Winter Soldier opens his eyes.

__________________________________________

He’s not restrained. Scanning his eyes to his sides without lifting his head, he sees equipment that he does not recognize, but nothing is connected to him.

“You’re awake.”

It’s a woman’s voice, dry and almost husky. The Soldier pushes himself forward immediately and stares at the red headed woman standing close by.

“My orders?” he asks, but it comes out in Russian with no real accent. He is the American; he has heard himself be called this before.

The red-headed woman’s face shifts, just barely, but he notices it. Her body tenses, too.

The Soldier assumes he’s been captured and lashes out, fast and hard. The metal arm smashes against her shoulder, forcing a strangled, cut-off cry from her lungs before she flips away and kicks at his chest. The Soldier dodges easily, grabbing her ankle and twisting, just enough to sprain. He has no need to torture and she, as far as he knows, is not his target, though he will kill her if need be.

The woman goes down, but is not taken out. She uses her other leg to sweep his feet out from under him, which does nothing but buy her enough time to press something on her wrist and try to hop onto his shoulders.

“Bucky’s down!” she grunts out, smashing her fists into his neck. “The Winter Soldier is active! Repeat –”

The Soldier cries out when electrical currents force through his body. Still, it’s not enough to stop him.

The woman is thrown through the door.

The Winter Soldier escapes out of the room and stands in the dark hallway, listening to fast-approaching footsteps. The element of surprise can be on his side, he calculates, so he slips into the nearest room. When he turns, however, he’s met with two things. One: there is a blond man lying limply on a bed. Two: there’s a man with a bow pointing an arrow right at his face.

“At ease, Soldier,” the man with a bow says.

Weaponless, the soldier drops, rolls into a ball, and uses his palms to spring himself into the air, feet aimed at the enemy.

“It was worth a shot,” the man grunts as he twists out of the way, letting the arrow fly. It sticks to the wall. Turning as the Soldier lunges, swinging his metal arm mightily, the bowman yells, “Tasha, do you copy!?” The whirring metal nearly connects a hit hard enough to crack a skull. The archer is skilled, and he ducks again, firing when some distance is between them.

The Soldier grabs the bow with metal fingers, causing it to nearly snap, and the archer tries valiantly to get it back in one piece before pulling a compound bow from somewhere. An arrow digs into the metal of his bicep and another electric shock goes through. It doesn’t cause him pain this time, but it renders his personal weapon useless, and that makes him angry.

He hears a clicking of a gun from behind before he can move.

“Stand down.” It’s the red-headed woman’s voice, only more unsteady. “Stand down or I’ll put bullets in your legs. I don’t think you’ll appreciate the downgrade of speed.”

The Soldier drops the broken bow to the ground. He doesn’t try to pull the arrow from his arm.

“Do you know where you are?” the woman asks. The Soldier does not respond. “Do you know _who_ you are?”

“The Asset,” he answers, in English, just like her.

“Are you here to kill Steve?”

_Steve_. It sounds so familiar. Why? Why does it sound familiar?

“Who?” he rasps, but his mind is already beginning to tingle.

“Bucky…” There’s a different voice now, low and calming.

He turns without thinking to look. The woman’s eyes are wild and there’s blood on the side of her head, but she doesn’t shoot.

“Bucky?” he whispers, his voice shaky and he doesn’t know why, is confused and lost and can’t understand.

There’s a whoosh in his mind, a long whistle, like he’s falling through the sky with only the wind surrounding him. He can tell it’s a recurring thought, an endless nightmare. The Soldier’s eyes land on the blond man, on _Steve_ , and everything but the echoing voices overlapping through his thoughts goes silent.

_Bucky – Bucky, come on!_

_Come on, we can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids…_

_It’s me. It’s Steve._

_Steve?_

_Bucky!_

_I was gonna ask…_

_You’re taking all the stupid with you._

_It’ll be fun._

_Where’re we going?_

_This isn’t a back alley, Steve. This is war._

_Is Steve gonna die?_

_Where’d you get the money for that? Do I even wanna know?_

_Hey, you drawing me again, Michelangelo?_

_Tough little idiot._

_Gotta start at the bottom if you wanna get to the top, right?_

_You’re a punk._

_I’ll teach you to dance, Steve._

_Go! Get out of here!_

_Pick on someone your own size._

_You don’t have to stay, Bucky._

_No! Not without you!_

_You touch him one more time and I’ll wring your neck._

_That’s the third fight this month, James!_

_Why you always hangin around that Rogers boy?_

_You could die!_

_Saved you some candy._

_We’ll just share the bed. No big deal._

_Shut up, Buck._

_Hey, what’s your name?_

_The future._

_I had ‘em on the ropes._

_Right, ‘cause you got nothing to prove._

_Remember that time I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?_

_God, please don’t take him. Not him._

_I’ll tell him you came by, James. I know he’ll be happy about that._

_I can take care of myself._

_The thing is… you don’t have to._

_Can Steve spend the night? Please?_

_I’ve got a big family, you know? You and your Ma fit right in._

_I don’t need your help._

_Bucky?_

_That man on the bridge… who was he?_

_You are to be the new fist of HYDRA._

_I’m turning into you._

_You look great, Bucky. Always do._

_He’s an animal!_

_It’s like a horrible dream._

_Why are you and dad always fighting?_

_Test him again!_

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

_You’ve known me your whole life._

_Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out to England first thing tomorrow._

_Then wipe him and start over._

_This isn’t payback, is it?_

_Your target is Howard Stark. It’s to look like an accident, do you understand?_

_Hell, Captain America’s your best friend?_

_You know me._

_Are you ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?_

_No, I don’t!_

_I did the dirty work for Captain America._

_Best friends since childhood –_

_Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight? I’m following him._

_Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield._

_The Howling Commandos, huh? Has a nice ring to it._

_Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country._

_What’re you feeding stray cats for? You’re allergic, remember?_

_What’s your name?_

_James, you’re one of the brightest students in the class. Try to pay attention –_

_The Winter Soldier._

_Quit hoggin all the covers. M’cold._

_You’ll meet someone real nice, Steve. I promise._

_You’re my friend._

_Hey, what’re best pals for?_

_Were you praying for me? Last night, I heard you…_

_You’re my mission!_

_Bucky? Thanks._

_Hey – hey! I’m in charge. Let my men go!_

_You have been a gift to mankind._

_Don’t try so hard._

_I’m sorry, Steve! I didn’t mean it, I swear!_

_Then finish it._

_It’s ‘cause I care, stupid._

_‘Cause I’m with you ‘til the end of the line._

_Yeah, yeah. I get it, jerk._

_I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal._

_Sometimes I think you like getting punched._

_I thought you were dead._

_What happened to you?_

_I joined the Army._

_But I knew him._

_I’m Steve. Steve Rogers._

_Heya, Steve. Call me Bucky._

“Is he having an aneurism?” he hears a male voice say, almost worriedly.

His mind keeps swirling until he hits the floor with his ears ringing, blacking out with _‘Steve’_ on his lips.

__________________________________________

“Bucky! Bucky, wake up!”

__________________________________________

Bucky opens his eyes just as a shaky breath leaves his lips. Blinking groggily, he scans the room slowly, feeling as if his head’s been split open. It sends a jolt of panic coursing through his body, forcing him onto his feet.

Except he never makes it.

There are hands holding him down – big, strong, warm hands pressing against his chest. Without thinking, he lifts his own and isn’t really shocked to see one that’s pure metal.

He’s confused. He wants to yell, to scream and kick and bite fingers off with his teeth. He doesn’t. Instead, he flicks his gaze up to the man that’s keeping him on the hard floor.

He has messy blond hair and tired blue eyes, a hard jaw and big shoulders. He looks worried and scared. He looks –

“Bucky,” the man breathes. “Thank God, you’re alright.”

Bucky swallows, staring blankly.

“It’s me,” the man says, desperate as he clings to the front of Bucky’s shirt. “It’s Steve.”

“Steve?” The voice sounds so small and lost that he can’t even believe it’s his own. “ _Steve._ ”

The blond man nearly chokes on the big gulp of air he sucks in and before Bucky knows it, he’s being manhandled into a hug that could crush his bones if it were any tighter.

“I thought –” Steve tries, but whatever he thought doesn’t get voiced because he sticks to hugging Bucky instead. One hand rubs up and down Bucky’s back and the other gets fisted into his hair, keeping him as close as their position on the floor allows.

From where his chin is resting on Steve’s shoulder, Bucky can see an injured Natasha leaning against Barton, a gun lowered to her side and a tired but undoubtedly relieved expression on her face. He turns his head just slightly, enough to notice the audience by the exit; Thor, Tony, Sam, Bruce, and Lady Sif. He can hear others moving behind them, but he doesn’t care.

He buries his face into Steve’s neck, wraps his heavy limbs around a solid middle, and let’s his body go limp. He feels _safe_ for the first time in what must be forever.

__________________________________________

Bucky doesn’t want to admit it (can’t, really), but he’s delirious by the time Steve drags him into a standing position, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s torso to keep him upright. He gets put onto the bed that he swore Steve had been lying in before.

“What happened?” Steve asks someone while Bucky tries to glance around the room again, blinking owlishly in an attempt to comprehend what’s going on.

“Both of you blacked out,” Barton answers.

Natasha adds, “He wasn’t Bucky when he woke up.”

“Is everyone alright?” Thor asks with true concern.

“Tasha needs medical attention.”

Lady Sif leads them out of the room.

“So,” Tony says after a moment, leaning himself against the wall. “Did your little magic trick work?”

Steve turns to stare down at Bucky, his gaze roaming carefully over chest and face before making eye contact. Bucky stares back, unsure of what exactly he’s feeling.

A gentle palm touches his cheek, fingers curling around his jaw, and Bucky can’t help closing his eyes.

Quietly, Steve says, “We’ll figure it out later.”

Bucky knows that means he’s going to be left alone to rest. He doesn’t mind.

Just before everyone is ushered out of the room (by Sam, he sees when he cracks an eye open), Sam says, quietly to Steve, “Man, that guys been to hell and back one too many times.”

“Yeah, we don’t know the half of it.”

“You get some rest too, Steve, you got it? Gonna need it.”

Steve promises Sam that he will before he pulls a chair over to the bed. Bucky opens his eyes long enough to see his friend sit down and then reach out only to pull back again. Bucky meets Steve’s eye, a silent confirmation passing between the two, and then Steve reaches out again to gingerly take Bucky’s hand in both of his. They look as if they’re healing from week old burns.

“I’ll be here when you wake up this time, Buck. I swear.”

Bucky believes him.

__________________________________________

There’s a dream.

He walks through the crowded streets of New York in the afternoon, glancing at electronic billboards and vaguely listening to passing conversations held through cell phones. He’s wearing long sleeves and a glove on his left hand even though it’s warm out, and strands of his hair caress his face as it’s blown in the wind.

Steve is beside him, trying desperately not to make a mess of his shirt as he eats a hot dog that they must’ve gotten from a street vendor. Bucky holds a soda in his right hand, sips at it with amusement when Steve wipes the ketchup away from his mouth with the back of his hand. When he finishes, he pulls out a pretzel and offers Bucky half. It smells too good to resist.

They keep walking, like they belong on the modern streets of New York the same way they belonged so resolutely in Brooklyn those 70 plus odd years ago. They could keep walking, forever, just the two of them like it should be, like it was for the longest time, but they don’t. They stop in front of a large building, bumping shoulders and tripping up stairs and laughing like idiot kids because they can. Finally, they can.

When he wakes up, with Steve slumped over until his forehead is rested against Bucky’s side, their hands still clasped, he thinks that it’s the best dream he’s ever had.

__________________________________________

Bucky pulls his hand out of Steve’s after a while, resting one in his lap and the other atop a head of soft, short hair. It wakes him within seconds, causing him to roll his head and blink enough times to see clearly that Bucky is by his side.

He thinks fondly _dumb punk_ when Steve gives him a crooked, unabashed grin.

“Do you remember?” Steve asks after he clears his throat. The question is so vague, but Bucky understands its true meaning.

“I think so… not sure yet.”

Steve nods, accepting, like it wouldn’t matter at this point if Bucky forgot his own name again.

“Think you’ll be okay?” Steve asks this time, a little softer, a little more uncertain.

Bucky doesn’t even have to think to answer, just feels like, “Yeah,” is the right thing to say. He hopes it is.

After he pulls his hand away, tugging a little at the blond hair of his friend, and tries to set himself into a better position, his face turns confused and he asks, “I can’t exactly remember where we’re at.”

Steve smiles, amusement glistening in his eyes. “We’re in space.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, funny.”

Steve’s smile gets wider. “No, I mean it, Buck. We’re on Asgard, up in space. Thor, the guy with the red cape? This is where he lives.”

Bucky stares at him, trying to see anything that indicates Steve is pulling his leg.

“Well, _shit_ ,” Bucky says with wide eyes.

Steve laughs and it’s perfect.

__________________________________________

The halls of what can only be described as a castle are big and dark and full of contradictory items. Still, they’re familiar and Bucky recalls, fuzzily, seeing them not so long ago.

Steve quietly suggests, with a tone of authority, that Bucky apologize for what he did to Natasha. It’s a step in the right direction. So when he sees her, looking tough and ready for anything despite the bandages on her head, her shoulder, and her ankle, he sincerely tells her sorry. She tells him straightforward that she accepts his apology, but that if he tries to kill her one more time, no matter the circumstance, she’ll get him while he sleeps. It’s the kind of black humor he appreciates.

Thor invites them to feast with his friends - Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, he declares. They accept but insist that they’ll need to get back afterward. Thor seems delighted.

They eat and chat and are generally merry, a weight seemingly lifted off all of their chests and shoulders. Bucky eats a lot very quickly but stays mostly quiet; he feels like he remembers, he just can’t recall everything all at once and it’s frustrating.

Thor escorts them to the bridge and decides to follow them back to New York so he can spend time with someone called Jane. The big man in golden armor waits for Banner to ask if Tony is ready before they start descending upon earth again. It’s so crazy and wild and it makes Bucky laugh a little because _how did he get here_. It’ll all come back to him and no doubt his sudden joy won’t last for long, but it’s enough for now.

And then the moment’s over because when they land in New York, it’s chaos.

People are panicking, trying to run away as others stand and stare. They don’t need to be close to see that the giant ‘A’ tower is up in smoke and crumbling to the ground.

Tony has another panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> promises // the boxer rebellion  
> we must be killers // mikky ekko
> 
> also, beautiful and perfect for bucky's onslaught of memories: within dreams // the album leaf
> 
> This was two chapters originally, but then I found out how short they were on their own and ended up smushing them together. 
> 
> So, explanation... When I started writing this I was really getting into it and typing a bunch of stuff out, and I decided - hey, having Bucky get his memories back via the Tesseract is a good idea for what I'm writing. So I wrote it out and kept going, and then I considered that maybe I'd rather have him not remember. It was already too late by then, unless I wanted to rewrite the stuff I'd already gotten down, so I ended up sticking with it. But memory is a tricky thing and while Bucky will be able to recall things, it might not be as clear-cut as he thought, especially when he's changed so much. But anyway, we've got some action coming.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the comments and kudos. I get so happy when I see your thoughts on everything.
> 
> (oh, and i can't write thor? sorry.)


	13. and if it makes you less sad, i'll take your pictures all down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’ll know something to get us in the right direction.”
> 
> Us. How strange it is, how fast affiliations change. Wherever he belongs (whatever, whoever he is), it’s with Steve.
> 
> “And what happens after you kill him?” Steve’s voice is a mixture of things, but disapproval is clear. “We’re a team here, Bucky… more like the Commandos than I ever liked to think. You work with Widow, you come back, and you take your spot with us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And when the world don't break   
> I'll be shaking it  
> 'cause I'm a young man after all  
> And when the seasons change  
> will you stand by me?  
> 'cause I'm a young man built to fall"

No one asks any of the passing people what’s going on; they don’t have to. It’s clear they’re under attack.

Despite Bucky’s hazy mind, he speaks first, intent to get to the bottom of what happened to the tower (he won’t think of it as home, _he won’t_ ). “HYDRA?”

His voice seems to spur a shocked Steve into action. He turns, assessing the group’s varied reactions, not letting his concerned eyes linger on Tony and Bruce who sit on a curb some feet away. “Likely,” Steve concurs. “There’s no doubt they’ve been trailing us. They want me and Natasha dead, and it’s safe to assume they want their _weapon_ back. So why wait until we leave? Why make it a show instead of an assassination?”

“A warning?” Barton wonders aloud.

Bucky sees Natasha very discreetly surveying the area. His instincts kick in and he does the same. The streets are crowded and chaotic, but he knows what to look for. He can’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean they’re in the clear.

“We need to get off the streets,” Bucky says. “There could be eyes on us right now.”

Steve stares at Bucky with something close to desperate in his eyes.

“I should’ve brought my shield, dammit.” Steve practically vibrates with frustration.

“You don’t keep all your toys in one box, do you, Stark?” Barton calls over his shoulder; no one around them is listening.

Natasha shakes her head, disapproving. “He doesn’t have anywhere safe, and neither do I at this point.”

“I’ve got some places,” Barton says more quietly.

“Should we split up or stick together?” Sam asks, and that is the question, isn’t it?

Everyone looks to Steve. It makes Bucky wonder what he missed that has all of these personalities trusting his friend. It’s not hard to trust someone like Steve Rogers, he knows, but he’s still curious.

“I’m not sure what they’re expecting. Any option puts us at risk.”

“So go for the one that’s least risky,” Tony says as he strides over with Banner at his side. “But I gotta get to the tower first.”

“That’s right,” Steve says suddenly. “I doubt HYDRA gave the people in the building enough time to evacuate. We need to help as many as we can.”

“So what, start running?” Barton asks, but half of his attention is on adjusting his crossbow.

“Thor, take Dr. Banner and Sam,” Steve instructs, and he’s in full Captain-mode now. “Tony, you got a suit in that pack?”

Tony snorts and drops the metal to the floor. The thing starts deconstructing, sending pieces flying up to mold over Stark’s body. It’s more fascinating than flying cars could ever be, Bucky thinks.

“Good,” Steve says. “Can you handle Barton and Widow?”

“I’ve carried more than that – not stably, mind you, but we’ll get there in one piece.”

“Then go. Bucky and I will head over on foot.”

“Sure that’s a good idea, Cap?” Natasha asks as Barton wraps and arm around her middle, readying himself for flight with Tony. “Could be snipers waiting to spot you alone.”

“He’s not alone,” Bucky says sternly, his eyes scanning the buildings with intent. “But I can only do so much unarmed.”

Natasha, with a gun in her hand, studies him for a moment before pulling one from behind her back to toss to him, along with a tiny comlink. Steve’s still shield-less, but he’s far from incapable. Bucky remembers their close combat just fine.

“Code names over com,” Barton reminds everyone. But then he looks at Bucky. “Can’t exactly call you Winter Soldier.”

“I was a Sergeant,” Bucky replies, though he’s certain Barton already knows. “I’m not exactly deserving of the title, but –”

“Cap and Sarge. Bring you back to the good ol’ days?” Tony asks just as the metal plate slips over his face. Bucky sees Steve give a smirk. It makes him feel more at ease.

They watch Tony – or Iron Man, now– heave Hawkeye and Widow up into the air and can’t help but be amazed at how they dart away. Thor and Sam (Falcone) and Banner are probably already trying to assess the damage. Bucky and Steve start running.

They slip in and out of crowds, trying not to stand out too much, and though Bucky knows Steve is against using civilians as temporary shields (HYDRA won’t take shots they aren’t certain of; they’ll try for just one), it’s necessary.

The closer to the crumbling, still-on-fire building they get, the more the civilians turned into dirty, bloodied agents. It’s a relief to see that many of them made it. He tries to ignore the ones that don’t, even if he is far past squeamish of such things.

But the place is still mostly standing and there might be some salvageable things inside that they can try to come back for later.

“Cap!” Agent Hill calls out with a cough following her words. She’s got a few bloody cuts and her clothes are dirty, but she looks otherwise fine. “There was an unidentifiable airstrike, most likely HYDRA, possible AIM affiliation.”

“They didn’t happen to leave a message, did they?” Steve asks sarcastically. He’s barely winded.

Hill shakes her head tiredly.

Bucky can see the efforts that Steve’s team is putting into trying to pull more agents out of the buildings, how they drag dead bodies to the side with solemn respect. He knows that HYDRA would be after Captain America and his crew of do-gooders even if he wasn’t a factor, but he is and the whole mess feels like his fault. If he hadn’t selfishly insisted on getting his memories back then they would’ve been on earth when the attack happened and – Yeah, they probably couldn’t’ve stopped it; some of them might’ve even died.

He takes a deep breath and hopes it’s enough to calm him.

Steve moves quickly and efficiently and with a gentleness that you wouldn’t expect. He calls out orders like he was born for it – Bucky knows, and has always known, this to be true. Seeing it again, after the war he never made it out of, is still something to behold.

But he’s no slouch and even if he’s thoroughly shocked when Barton sticks close by, looking to him for instruction (more out of courtesy than a need), he isn’t afraid to give commands. As a Sergeant and as the Winter Soldier, he was used to being in charge of groups of men when in the field. The signs of war are all too familiar.

Thor looks to Bucky for instruction, too, when Cap starts hauling dead bodies away from prying, traumatized eyes. They seem to all be calling out to him for one reason or another, making his short time as a Sergeant stand out against the years as The Winter Soldier.

Bucky helps Steve haul the bodies while keeping an eye out for suspicious bystanders. Natasha’s gun is tucked into the back of his pants.

He feels a prickling on the back of his neck when he lets Steve wander too far from his side. Flicking rubble away, Bucky’s body straightens and his muscle tense, and his pulse dulls in a way that narrows his focus instead of an indication of calmness.

A red dot creeps its way up Steve’s back to settle against his hair, red on gold. He thinks HYDRA must be desperate or stupid without Pierce (or both) if they think their ex-asset has been tamed enough to forget himself amongst these helpless people.

He doesn’t even move from his spot before pulling his gun and raising his arm, aiming straight at the tip of the sniper rifle. He can’t see the shooter, so this should be enough of a warning. It could be an impossible shot, but it isn’t – not with Natasha’s gun and Bucky’s skill, the perfect mix.

A deep breath. He doesn’t count.

He fires, the shot piercing the air enough to gather the immediate attention of those around (including Steve, who turns so fast his neck must crack), and then Bucky’s eyes flick over to make sure the red dot has disappeared. He doesn’t lower his gun, just stares at the empty roof, knowing the shooter must be trying to crawl away with his damaged weapon.

“If anyone’s interested in pursuit, you better move fast,” he tells no one in particular. “Sniper’s on the run.”

He’s fast but not fast enough to catch someone that far away, and Bucky would rather stand guard over Steve. Iron Man takes flight in an instant, eager to have a new task that’ll take up more of his attention and get him away from his ruined home.

The response teams seem to take a long time to show up, but when they do it means that Steve leads his team out of the fold so they can disappear to one of Barton’s supposed safe houses. Bucky doesn’t know if that includes him – thinks it probably does, thinks it’s stupid and knows he’s grateful.

Tony finds them even after they’ve dispersed and, surprisingly, he’s carrying an unconscious sniper.

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do with him,” Tony admits, “but I figured – hey, info’s pretty scarce right now, I’ll take what we can get.”

“However we can get it?” Bucky asks, and he knows he’s not the only one thinking it. He can imagine Tony’s expression has turned into a wince.

“We can’t take him to a safe house,” Natasha replies instead. “New York’s full of abandoned factories.”

“We’ll split into groups,” Steve decides. “Who’s up for aiding Widow’s interrogation?”

“I am.” Steve doesn’t like the answer, though he doesn’t look surprised. “I recognize him.”

“I doubt that’ll help much,” Natasha murmurs.

“I’m not looking for a friendly chat.”

“Bucky,” Steve tries, warning in his voice. They’re past that now.

“He’s nobody. HYDRA won’t come for him.” Then, thoughtfully, “Check his pockets for cyanide before he wakes up.”

Steve can’t help asking, “They still do that?” before shaking the thoughts away to focus on the matter that concerns him most. “We don’t have time for delicacy, so I’ll just say it. I don’t think you’re stable enough to try something like this.”

“I’m not a torturer,” he tells Steve frigidly, “but I won’t pretend I’m above it.”

“You said he’s nobody,” Steve attempts to reason.

“He’ll know something to get us in the right direction.”

_Us_. How strange it is, how fast affiliations change. Wherever he belongs (whatever, whoever he is), it’s with Steve.

“And what happens after you kill him?” Steve’s voice is a mixture of things, but disapproval is clear. “We’re a team here, Bucky… more like the Commandos than I ever liked to think. You work with Widow, you come back, and you take your spot with us.”

Bucky smiles dryly, despite the warmth in his chest. “You’re imposing me on your friends?”

Barton and Tony voice they’re arguments at the same time.

“I’m not asking you to follow Captain America,” Steve says, blue eyes wide and earnest. “You never did and never will.”

“So you’re gonna ask me to follow Steve?” And he says it because he remembers his own words, is glad when he can’t quite reach the conclusion of what they meant then, what they’d mean now. “That’s not really fair, is it.” It’s not a question.

Steve’s lips twist into a sad smile. “Nothing is.”

Bucky figures they all know this.

Finally, he decides. “You want me, I’m there.” He feels as if the words are too much for even Steve to hear, but the way he responds – the _look_ he gives Bucky is so full of everything that it makes him ache. It’s selfish, but he’s on his way to feeling like he finally belongs at Steve’s side again. It’s been a long time.

“Secure channel?” Steve asks when Bucky flings the limp body over his shoulder. Natasha nods, so Steve continues, “Then coms on at all times.” Turns to Bucky, says, “And you better respond.”

He rolls his eyes.

__________________________________________

Natasha has a gun, her shock gloves, and whatever tiny gadgets she could fit into the pockets of her tight jeans. Bucky has a gun, a metal arm, and a kitchen knife tucked into his boot that no one knows about.

They have no trouble finding an abandoned factory after a while on foot, even if they get horrified stares from bystanders.

Once they strip the man, they have a few more weapons to add to their collection.

__________________________________________

The man starts to crack under Natasha’s varied techniques. She’s a master at manipulation and she gives him a sliver of hope that he’ll make it out without any real damage, makes him think that he wants to.

Bucky doesn’t like to admit the gratification he gets out of breaking the man completely. It isn’t personal; he doesn’t see the man’s face as he punches it in, only HYDRA and all their heads.

_Cut off one head, two more shall take its place._

Bucky tells himself he’ll rip the heart right out of their chest instead.

__________________________________________

He curls himself up in a dark corner once the guilt starts to hit. He imagines himself doing to Steve what he did to the nameless HYDRA agent, tries not to cry when he realizes that he nearly did.

He tries so hard, but _fuck_ , he can’t help crying a little, barely shaking with silent sobs.

“It’s what people like us do,” Natasha tells him, as if it’s a comforting thought, though he knows she doesn’t care about comfort right now. “We do terrible things and we run away, but sometimes we stop long enough to find something worth running _to_.” Bucky knows she’s talking about _Steve_ ; he also knows that, for her, she means Barton. “We can hope that one day we’ll stop running away from the horrors of our past so we can chase the future we choose to create.”

“Sounds like a speech before certain death,” he says absently, and he wonders if it means something about him. He was never afraid of death – not until the hellicarrier, and it wasn’t just fear for himself, then.

She frowns a little, purposefully, jokingly. “I was going for pep-talk. You can imagine I don’t give many of those.”

He makes a noise that sounds vaguely amused.

__________________________________________

Steve’s voice is clear and low over the com as he explains the ways they split up and how they’ve gone. Cap, Thor, and Banner went underground, through the sewers, to avoid detection; also because, in case of an ambush, they would survive being trapped under a collapse. Hawkeye, Falcon, and Iron Man stuck to the streets since only one of them had a way to fly. Natasha informs everyone on their secure line that she and Bucky (she calls him Sarge) will take to the rooftops. He’s surprised that it’s dusk by the time they leave the abandoned factory, not once glancing back at the dead HYDRA agent.

They scale walls, hop roofs, swing down from ladders when needed until they can reach higher ground again. Natasha is fast and agile, but Bucky is even more so and he sprints ahead, making hardly any sound, as if he were an extension of the breeze. She keeps after him without a complaint, stays quiet when Steve uses the line just to talk to Bucky, ignoring the fact that everyone can hear their conversation. It isn’t much of anything – mostly just Steve attempting to make small talk and Bucky indulges him by breathing just heavy enough for Steve to make it out, to calm him. They all hear Sam mumble something about it being creepy, but no one says a thing, not even Tony.

There’s an occasional feeling of eyes on him as he runs. He drops into an alley without warning, trusting that Natasha gets the message. Ducking in and out of shadows, around corners, and then onto another building two streets away; he knows he hasn’t evaded them that easily, but he feels a little better for now. Natasha’s path converges with his not even 5 minutes later.

Hawkeye, Falcon, and Iron Man announce that they’ve reached the safe house and that JARVIS is discreetly leading Cap, Thor, and Banner in the right direction, multitasking with leading Bucky and Widow to the same place.

Bucky and Natasha reach their destination before the sewer crew. It’s an old apartment complex that’s seemingly shut down and taken over by homeless people. Many of the windows facing the streets have been boarded up. The raggedy people of all ages stare at them suspiciously, but say and do nothing other than go about their business. As soon as they enter through a side door, they look up to see Barton sitting at the top floor with his legs hanging over the banister.

JARVIS tells them all that the rest of the group is close.

Barton and Natasha disappear into a room down the hall as Bucky takes over the seat on the bannister, waiting for Steve to come through the door.

Bucky shuts his com off as soon as he sees Steve’s blond hair, and when his friend looks up, catching his eye and giving a small smile, Bucky returns it. Then he slides off the bannister and slips into stride with Steve once he and the other two hit the hallway.

“Good-cop, bad-cop?” Tony prompts once everyone is crowding around the tiny shack of a room with the door closed and after a quick sweep for any bugs.

Natasha tells them the important things, like how they were being followed but not pursued, and how the agent broke mostly under mental manipulation before any physical violence took place. Bucky knows she’s trying to shield him from his own bad thoughts as well as lull Steve into feeling better about it all. He doesn’t know if it’s something she’s picked up on her own or something she’s learned from others.

Still, Steve’s gaze flickers down to Bucky’s bloody knuckles, the stains on his t-shirt, the smeared spattering against his face. It’s not anything that belongs to him and they all know it.

They didn’t find out much, but it’s something.

_“HYDRA –” the agent had started, choking over his words. Bucky grabbed his hand, disgusted with himself as he started snapping fingers, trying with all his might not to just end the man’s life because the agonized screams were making him sick._

_“Pierce is dead,” Bucky bites out. “Who do you report to?”_

_The man is crying but Bucky –_ no, _The Winter Solider – doesn’t let up, continues to smash any bones he can reach with his metal fingers._

_“She said you wouldn’t kill me!” he screams. “I know it was a lie. Just do it, please! Do it already!”_

_“I’ll let you live,” the Soldier says, and it’s terrible how life is a threat. “Tell me what I need to know and I’ll stop.”_

_“Lukin!” he sobs. “Lukin and – and someone else, I don’t know who!”_

_The Soldier pulls back and stares down with blank eyes, trying to quell his conflicting emotions._

_“You’re crazy!” the man lets out desperately. “When HYDRA gets you, they’ll put you –”_

_The Soldier crushes the man’s windpipe before he can say anything else. And then he’s on him, pounding his fist into a face that looks like a thousand others – that looks like Zola and Pierce and Schmidt and any and all of his handlers or makers or tortures. He knows, in this moment, that he’s no better._

_It’s an excuse to keep punching until there’s no face or head left._

“So, some guy named Lukin? That’s all?” Sam’s voice interrupts the memories haunting him.

“Aleksander Lukin,” Natasha confirms. “I know of him.”

Bucky’s thoughts shift around until he recalls the name, too.

“Lukin should be an old man by now, but…” she begins, glancing at Steve. HYDRA experimentation might’ve slowed his aging down. “Your era. Soviet affiliation, protégé of Vasily Karpov.”

“I know that name,” Steve tells them.

_Karpov_. Bucky knows that name, too, but for different reasons. It only takes him a dazed minute to dredge up the cold memories.

_White, white, white. Snow. Pain, pain, pain. Cold. Trees. One man dragging him. Looking down – blue coat. Half of his left arm gone, blood staining snow. Another man staring down; fur hat, serious face. One of his original makers. Karpov._

“You know him?”

Bucky can’t focus enough to tell whose asking.

“Yeah,” he manages, licking his dry lips. “Karpov more than Lukin.”

“Soviets…Would they have gone over to HYDRA?”

Natasha shrugs. “Lukin had ties with the KGB. He also had interest in HYDRA’s schemes.”

“Let me guess. He wanted the cube?” Steve’s tone suggests he’s had it with all of this tyrannical nonsense.

“Damn. That thing causes more problems than I do,” Tony quips, but there’s hardly any humor in it this time.

“So why does a HYDRA agent mention Lukin? There must be some explicit involvement now.”

Bucky knows that Sam is more than likely right.

“Whatever’s going on, Lukin’s got something of a partner,” Natasha continues. “The agent didn’t know his name.”

Tony crosses his arms, says, “We’ve got stuff to look into, which would be a lot easier if some stupid secret club didn’t destroy my tower.”

“We need a plan,” Steve insists, putting their first step forward.

Sam nods. “So what’re you thinkin, Cap?”

Steve looks serious and thoughtful, scratches at his neck with a pinched expression.  “I think we should get Fury up to date,” he says. “We’re a team, and that means we don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“I can meet him in Europe,” Natasha offers; Barton volunteers to follow.

“We’ll get Hill in on this,” Steve continues. “As for base of operations… any ideas?”

Tony steps forward. “Since being bombed is a recurring theme, I’ve taken to collecting property. And I’ve been working on something…” He pulls several small devices out of his pockets and holds them in the palms of his hands. “Miniature cloaking devices,” he explains. “That’s why I went back to the tower. These were the only few that survived, but they should be enough to hide one of my more modest dwellings.”

 “That’s good thinking, Tony,” Steve praises, and though Tony shrugs and says ‘ _course it is_ ,’ Bucky can see a twitch of pleasure in the man’s face. “Sam, it’s not too late to back out of this.”

Sam scoffs. “You keep sayin that and still, I’m here. I’m just feeling a little useless without my wings.”

“Soon as we get to a lab, I’m making you some – bigger and better. And Bruce will help, won’t you?”

Banner nods with a small smile.

Sam looks at ease. “Great then. So what’s my job?”

“Bring Hill up to date,” Steve orders. And then, to Thor, “You staying or going?”

“I will storm into battle with you,” Thor says with a grin that’s more subdued than normal. He adds, “After I check on Jane.”

“Well, there’s not a battle yet, so you’ve got the time. Our current mission is recon.”

Bucky has a slight problem. “ _Your_ mission is recon.” Steve gives him a look that clearly says _do not start_. “I can pick off stragglers while you make heads and tails of this mess.”

“By yourself?” Steve scoffs. “It’s too dangerous.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Let’s not be hypocritical, Stevie. And it’s not too dangerous for me. I’m a ghost –”

“ _No_ ,” Steve snaps, “you’re _not_.”

Bucky tilts his head and holds his palms out, placating but unwavering. “I’m not gonna fall over if you don’t hold my hand, and I’m not so weak minded that everything we’ve done to get me this far is just gonna fall away in their presence. And just ‘cause you don’t treat me like a weapon doesn’t mean you get to treat me like a child.”

Steve pulls a face. “I know it’s not one or the other, Bucky, and I’m sorry, but it’s complicated –”

“Yeah,” he interrupts. “Hell yeah, it’s _complicated_ , but when isn’t it?” He drops one hand and pushes his other up to his hair, running his fingers through. “You want me on your team?” he asks, and damn they should stop deciding to have these conversations in front of the group, but the prospect of having heartfelt conversations _alone_ is scary.

“Always,” Steve answers immediately. He doesn’t say anything else, knows he can’t argue this one.

“Then let me do what I do. It’s not even that different from what I’ve always done.”

“Let’s skip the soap opera and get on with business,” Tony intersects.

Steve clears his throat. “Nat, Clint – contact Fury for a meeting. You can head out tomorrow, but be careful. Tony, you and Bruce can get to… wherever it is you’re going. Set up, prepare yourselves for anything. Thor can find you there later.” He turns to Sam. “Meet with Hill tomorrow. She can help me dig for information. And Bucky –” He pauses to look at his friend. “Just get to Stark when you can, but you’re staying put once everyone’s back under one roof. Okay?”

He can’t do anything but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mind over matter // young the giant
> 
> So we're getting into plots that involve not just Bucky's recovery, but his progression and development. Hope it'll still be interesting for everyone. (And if you're waiting for some real Stucky stuff, we've got a ways to go yet... but it'll come eventually)
> 
> And thank you, thank you, thank you for all the nice words. It's amazing.


	14. every picture you paint, i will paint myself out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky swears that this man is about ready to blush. He squints (it’s not a glare, he tells himself) in their direction, and it’s enough to get the suited man’s attention.
> 
> “A new friend?” he inquires calmly.
> 
> Steve’s smile lights up his face. “An old friend,” he corrects. “Agent Coulson, this is James Barnes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes I wake up in the morning  
> Sometimes I dream some more  
> I keep my wounds without a a bandage, baby  
> As I come stumblin through the door  
> Spend my nights in this location  
> Talking to spirits on the floor  
> I think I came to find the feeling, baby  
> Between what was mine and what was yours"

Being outside, alone, after staying cooped up and surrounded by people constantly asking questions feels strange, but in an ‘alright’ sort of way. (Not _good_ , because part of him misses those people – misses Steve. He makes a dirty face at the thoughts in his head.)

He sticks to buildings nearby the shabby one Barton brought them to because Steve and Agent Hill are inside. He’s got his comlink on, just in case Steve needs to reach him.

He made a show of leaving the building, pretending to be stealthy in a way that said he was out of practice, though he clearly wasn’t. He moved into alleys and headed towards getting far away from the building, only to circle back discreetly and sets himself up across from the boarded window of the room he knows Steve is in.

It’s like this for a couple of days, though he takes care to switch up the routine. He never feels eyes on himself, but he knows at least one person is watching the building, even when Steve isn’t inside.

Each time Bucky makes it back to the apartment, he stays awake as long as or even longer than Steve. They don’t say much to each other. Bucky has nothing to report. Steve tells him that Fury thinks he has a lead on something and that Clint and Natasha are helping him out; he also talks about Hill, who has joined Stark and Banner at the newly cloaked safe house.

“We’ll head over once Thor gets back,” he tells Bucky.

So all there is to do is watch out for HYDRA while Steve attempts to find information on his own. Bucky trails Steve sometimes, the need to watch his back engrained into him deeper than anything HYDRA or the Soviet’s put there. Steve acts like he has no clue that it’s happening, probably because he can tell it makes Bucky feel safer.

It’s on the fourth day that Bucky snipes two HYDRA agents and fights another one up close and personal. He doesn’t get hit once and he relays that information to Steve when the blond man starts fussing over the blood on his clothes.

They leave for Stark’s hideout on the fourth day, too, when Thor contacts Stark about being a while longer if he isn’t expressly needed, and Bucky is exceptionally careful that no one has eyes on them.

“How are you?” Steve asks as they drive along in an average car in their inconspicuous clothes with the radio on low.

Bucky side-eyes him. “Fine,” he says casually; it’s mostly true. “You?”

Steve peers over at him for a few seconds before focusing back on the road. “Fine,” he replies back. There’s a pause before his eyes dart back over to Bucky and he asks, almost awkwardly, “Are you… are there any side effects? To the cube, I mean. Headaches or…”

“Regression?” Bucky guesses. He twists in his seat to get a better look at Steve’s profile. “Have I tried killing anyone in their sleep?”

Steve looks scandalized. “No,” he answers promptly, and Bucky’s eyes drop down to the white knuckles atop of the steering wheel.

“Then I think I’m fine.”

Steve gives a tight nod and continues to drive, watching the road carefully even though he doesn’t really have to. Bucky stares at his face for a long time, hardly ever blinks; it makes Steve twitch.

“Just ask,” Bucky says after an hour of silence and staring.

Steve glances at him, like maybe he’s going to pretend he has no idea what Bucky means, and then thinks better of it. “Did it work?” They’re at a stoplight so Steve can watch him for more than a few seconds at a time. “I still don’t care if you remember it all. I’m only asking to make sure you’re not, I don’t know, disappointed or – or angry.” He finishes with a shrug.

Bucky shrugs, too, and admits, “Haven’t thought about it much.” Steve’s eyebrows rise slowly, so he continues, “I think it’s all there… Haven’t had a reason to dig through it. Not yet. So, I dunno.”

“Okay,” Steve answers, accepting. _Okay_. He makes it feel true.

Bucky makes a face and shuts the radio off, observing Steve’s reaction (he barely even looks towards the dash). “Tell me something.”

“Sure,” Steve says, very agreeably. “Like what?”

Bucky shrugs again. “Anything.”

Steve starts to tell a story about the Howling Commandos as they drive on. His words are quiet and tentative at first, but aren’t unfamiliar and Bucky can’t describe the relief he feels when he can recall the things Steve talks about. They don’t quite feel like _his_ memories yet, but there’s an attachment that hadn’t been there before. He interjects after a while, mentioning something he remembers a little differently – not because he’s wrong, just because perspectives skew things, and Steve and Bucky have always had their own ways of thinking.

It’s not like it was. It doesn’t have to be. For that, Bucky is grateful.

__________________________________________

JARVIS, through Natasha’s secure communications link, leads them (on foot) to a very empty, inconspicuous field.

“I see you,” Tony says. “Keep going, straight ahead. Yep – yeah, left hand out, down. Down _more_ …”

Steve looks exasperated but does as he’s told and feels around emptily until his fingers graze the doorknob.

Steve looks like he’s miming pushing a door open, but Bucky knows he’s actually doing it, especially when there’s an empty foyer standing in the middle of nowhere.

“You’re ogling,” Tony says as he appears. “It’s good for my ego, not so much for our cover. Close the door so JARVIS can activate security protocols.”

 Bucky does so while Steve asks if Natasha and Clint have reported in. Tony informs them that Fury mentioned someone would be stopping by.

“Who?” Steve demands.

Tony shrugs. “Someone we can absolutely, one-hundred percent trust, s’what I was told.”

“Somehow, that’s not reassuring,” Steve murmurs, but then he spots Bucky surveying the area and begins to do the same.

Tony mumbles something about them looking like oversized, too-curious puppies, and _should I show you the bathroom before you pee all over the floor?_

“Sir,” JARVIS prompts not even an hour later as Steve and Bucky loiter in the lab, “upon my perimeter check I have discovered an incoming flying object headed this way.”

Tony’s shoulders sag and he rolls his eyes in desperation. “Are you kidding me? What is it?  A missile? Helicopter? Oh, hey – is it Rhodey? He’s supposed to stop by.”

“I believe it is a flying car, Sir.”

Bucky sees the way Steve’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Pull it up, JARVIS,” Tony instructs.

Sure enough, there’s a red flying car headed towards the empty field that they’re cloaked over.

“I’m not disappointed with the future anymore,” Steve says flatly, and Bucky has to bite down a smirk when Tony glares.

“Who’s driving?” Tony questions as his fingers move swiftly over the holographic screen in front of him.

Steve leans forward and, with a contorted expression, asks disbelievingly, “Is that –”

“Go meet him outside before he crashes into the place!”

Steve immediately rushes out and Bucky follows a little more leisurely, opting to leave the door open so they won’t struggle to find the invisible doorknob again.

Steve moves several feet away and puts up a hand, which prompts the flying car and the mysterious driver to slow and then descend straight down until the wheels turn normal and land against the ground.

Bucky stays behind and watches the man in a suit and shades step out of the car.

_Male, Caucasian, possibly 50 years old. Receding hairline. Familiarity with Steve Rogers._

“I’m surprised,” Steve is saying as Bucky moves closer. “Thought flying cars were a thing of the past.”

The man smiles despite himself, like he’s happy just being in Steve’s presence.

“I call her Lola,” the man says. Then he pauses for 15 seconds before continuing in a soft, steady voice, “Sorry for the deception. My resurrection was only known to agents on level 7 or higher. You being the exclusion.”

Steve’s turned just enough for Bucky to see his smirk. “Now that I can believe. It’s good to see you.”

Bucky swears that this man is about ready to blush. He squints (it’s not a glare, he tells himself) in their direction, and it’s enough to get the suited man’s attention.

“A new friend?” he inquires calmly.

Steve’s smile lights up his face. “An old friend,” he corrects. “Agent Coulson, this is James Barnes.”

His name, Bucky notices, means something to the man called Coulson. The man’s lips part and his hand reaches up to yank the sunglasses from his face, and suddenly his expression is full of childlike wonder.

“Sergeant James Barnes?”

Steve nods and leads Coulson closer, though they stop a few feet away from Bucky.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Coulson begins, “I’ve - I grew up hearing stories about Captain America and the Howling Commandos and, can I say, Sir, it’s an honor to meet you.”

Bucky doesn’t really know what to say because he doesn’t exactly understand. Captain America is famous – he knows this because that’s the way it was during the war. He also knows that the Commandos got some exposure (photographs, videos, even an interview one time), but there were never stories when he was alive. He decides that he wouldn’t know either way, since he disappeared before the war ended and was never in any place that would overtly speak of a man called Captain America and his rag-tag group of soldiers.

He hears Steve apologizing to Coulson and offering to actually sign his trading cards this time, if he still wants; he also suggests leaving any Sergeant Barnes trading cards at home when Coulson proudly declares that he owns two very rare ones.

When they reenter the safe house, Tony immediately starts hounding Coulson. Steve watches with mild amusement for maybe 5 minutes before becoming serious and interrupting.

“SHIELD’s down, Fury’s on the run, and Hill’s working with us under Stark. Where does that leave you?”

“Rebuilding,” Coulson replies with incredible composure. “SHIELD’s under maintenance. I’ve been assigned as the new Director.”

“Seriously?” Tony practically scoffs as Steve questions, “Under Fury’s authority?”

Coulson nods once. “He’s off the radar, currently investigating something of importance with Agents Romanoff and Barton, as you already know. But I’ve come to talk about something else.”

“Does it have anything to do with who bombed my tower?” Tony demands. “Just, I dunno, that might be important.”

“We have reason to believe that HYDRA’s not the only threat currently targeting you.”

“First off – who’s _we_?” Steve inquires. “And can you trust them?”

“I had a group. We managed threats, but like the rest of SHIELD, we were infiltrated. I know who I can put my trust in, Captain Rogers, and I hope you know, too. That’s why I’m here.”

“You need the Avengers,” Steve guesses, and Bucky really wants to know what that is.

“I take it you’re involved with this Avengers thing?” he asks, and Steve nods.

“You know about New York’s invasion. It was a few months after I woke up. Fury said it was called the Avengers Initiative and the goal was to form a team of remarkable people to save the world.” Steve sighs. “We weren’t much of a team at first. Lots of yelling, high tensions… But things came together and we saved a lot of lives. That’s the team you’re part of now.”

Coulson’s smiling again, like the thought of Bucky as an Avenger is the best thing he can currently imagine.

“We’re not working under SHIELD,” Tony pipes up. “We don’t start on messes, we end on them. If we’re getting the band back together then we’re doing it on my terms.”

“You’re gonna lead?” Steve asks, and it isn’t in a way that suggests Steve _needs_ to lead or that he’s the only one for the job – more like he knows Tony’s independent streak would not settle well with a group full of very distinct people.

Tony seems to know this, too.

“Yeah, _no_. Think of me as a benefactor. I even have suit designs – don’t worry, nothing too flashy. Even got one started for you, Freezer Burn.”

Coulson ignores Tony and continues to address Steve. “I’m not here to pull strings,” he says carefully. “I just wanted to tell you that we’ve caught wind of a few potential disasters.”

__________________________________________

“Potential disasters” included HYDRA experimentation and the currently unknown results, a lab accident that involved people called Hank Pym and Scott Lang, and HYDRA attempting to track their asset as well as assassinate Captain America.

Bucky’s sure Coulson knows he’s the asset; he isn’t covering his arm, after all. But it isn’t mentioned.

 “You flying over and suddenly disappearing into an otherwise empty field isn’t suspicious _at all_. I’m sure HYDRA’s scrambling to find us,” Tony quips.

Coulson looks faintly apologetic, but is very certain when he says, “I wasn’t followed.”

Bucky appreciates how absolute he sounds.

Coulson leaves after telling Tony to attempt getting into contact with Pym.

Bucky notices how distracted Tony suddenly looks; how exhausted, too. He tries to play it off by telling them to find the rooms they’ll want to stay in, explaining that since he had to choose a smaller place in order for the cloaking devices to work, there aren’t enough rooms for every Avenger and “ _Sharing is caring and all that, right?_ ”

As soon as they’re out of Tony’s earshot, Steve looks over to Bucky and asks, “Wanna bunk up?”

Of course Bucky remembers bunking with Steve – in tiny bedrooms and drafty tents. He also remembers sharing nearly everything with his small best friend. Food was scarce, especially when he moved out of his childhood home to share an apartment with Steve. Money was for both of them, no matter who earned it. Bucky was always too big to wear Steve’s clothes, but when it was cold and blankets weren’t enough, Bucky had no qualms with giving up his own wardrobe. And even before that, as one of his earliest memories, he can recall pulling out his toy soldiers and giving some to Steve to keep so that they could play on the fire escape together and in return Steve would divvy out his marbles. 

Lost in thought, Steve takes Bucky’s silence as reluctance.

“You don’t have to,” he tells him, calm an easy and fine. “None of us’ll argue if you want your own space. Sam might be willing –”

 “I was just thinking,” he interrupts, forcing strands of hair behind his ear. “You had your own tent. We were always on the move, but some nights we’d be at base and you’d make me share with you. I’d act like it was nothing, but… I appreciated it. I appreciate it now.”

Steve smiles at him. It’s familiar and right and Bucky feels it deep in his chest.

__________________________________________

Bucky leaves the tower on his own and is trusted to come back without any problems. He’s got nothing to do, really, but he feels restless and can’t stay cooped up for long anymore, especially since he feels nearly whole again.

_Nearly_.

He rushes away from the field so no attention is drawn to it, though anyone watching would’ve seen him appear out of nowhere, and doesn’t let himself think until he’s walked long enough to see the gray skies around the tower.

He’s not with HYDRA, not a weapon. He’s got his memories, allies he can feel _good_ working with, and a place to stay. But something’s missing… and he can’t figure out _what_.

There are police around the tower but he slips through easily, unafraid of the fact that the floors could collapse on him, especially the higher he goes. The elevators are down but Tony was paranoid enough to add emergency stairs, so he takes them up, up, up until he hears JARVIS.

“Sergeant Barnes – are you sure you should be here?”

He hums thoughtfully at the AI and continues upward, scaling rubble when necessary.

“Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Anything salvageable?”

“Perhaps you could be more specific.”

Bucky licks his lips, kicking open an air vent and slipping inside.

He’s not a materialistic man, never had been, but he can’t help asking about his clothes, the ones his _friends_ had gotten for him. JARVIS seems oddly optimistic and even points out where he could find a suitcase, if any had been left unscathed.

He finds a bag that’s mostly just covered in dust and takes it up to his floor, shoves his old uniform and whatever pieces of relatively unscathed clothing that he can find inside. His knitting is lost.

Bucky asks if Tony might need anything and waits several minutes for JARVIS to answer. When he does it’s with instructions from Tony to go searching through his lab – as well as a disapproving message from Steve.

Bucky finds a few of the tools Tony had asked for, shoves them in the bag, and goes off searching again, this time for an indestructible shield. He digs through the rubble of Steve’s floor, jumps on through a hole in the floor when he can’t find it, and spends another hour searching. His flesh hand is starting to accumulate several bloody cuts by the time he finds the damn thing and he hopes that Steve will at least be appreciative.

__________________________________________

Bucky is reluctantly grateful for the shield. If Steve hadn’t had it then he’d be dead for sure, probably even by Bucky’s hand.

Right now, the shield is a great projectile when otherwise unarmed.

Once he’d gotten far enough away from the tower, several HYDRA agents had ambushed him. One managed to dig a knife into the back of his shoulder and another got a kick in on his face, but they still went down without much of a problem. He can feel his skin bruising by the time he makes it back to the field and JARVIS, through his com, aids him inside.

Steve is there in nearly an instant, opening his mouth (for a scolding, no doubt) only to shut it once his eyes land on the shield hanging from metal fingers. He holds it out with a bloody smile and Steve answers with an exasperated “ _Damn it, Bucky.”_

__________________________________________

Sharing a room means sharing a bed. It’s nothing new, but it feels like it. After all, Bucky can remember it happening several times before (in what still feels like another lifetime; _is_ another lifetime), but it’s been over 70 years. He’s not nervous, just… unsure, unprepared. Cagey.

Steve is none of those things.

He comes into the room wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt and plops onto the bed with a tiny notebook in hand.

Bucky stays sitting at the edge of the bed with all of his clothes on and watches Steve flip through his tiny book.

“I can take another room for tonight,” Steve offers without looking up.

Bucky shrugs, knows Steve sees it. “Whatever you want.”

Steve looks up then and just observes Bucky for a while, fingers tapping against the cover of his notebook. “What do _you_ want, Buck? Whatever it is, that’s what I’ll do.”

Typical. Bucky rolls his eyes and shifts in his seat. “I –” he starts, but then he pauses once he realizes he doesn’t know what he wants. “I just have dreams, is all. Might keep you awake.”

Steve snorts. “I have dreams, too. And I don’t know for sure, but I probably throw punches.”

Bucky’s lips quirk into a smile without his permission. “I think I kick.”

Steve laughs, short and warm. “We pair up pretty well then.”

Bucky doesn’t say, but he thinks so, too.

He takes a shower in the bathroom and comes out in sweatpants and a t-shirt with his hair still dripping. Steve is in the same spot as before, drawing in the tiny notebook with only the light from a dim lamp to help him. Bucky climbs onto the queen sized mattress and settles down slowly, keeping to his side, right on the edge until his arm nearly slides off. He hears nothing but small breaths coming out of Steve’s nose and the sound of a pencil scratching against paper.

Bucky’s always been curious, even when he wasn’t allowed to be. It’s why he can’t stop himself from propping up on an elbow and leaning over to peer at the little drawing that’s taking shape across the lined paper.

Bucky doesn’t really know if he’s surprised to see a rough sketch of himself. His hair is as long as it was before Steve trimmed it and he’s smiling, like he can’t quite remember how but is unable to stop himself. He has eyes this time, but they’re clearly not the focus of the picture and are partially concealed with strands of sweat-curled hair.

“That day in the gym, when I embarrassed myself?” Steve starts, his voice laced with amusement and something else, something gentle. “That’s how you looked.”

Bucky stares down at the sketch more intently, eyes narrowed in concentration. There’s something about the image that makes it feel delicate and careful.

He remembers seeing some of Steve’s sketches from before. They were around each other so much that Steve couldn’t help draw him; it was good practice. Bucky can recall always feeling proud and honored. Now, though… he’s _embarrassed_.

He nods belatedly, turns to drop himself onto his back again. Steve doesn’t say anything, just reaches over to turn off the light, but he doesn’t go to sleep right away. He flips the page instead and starts scratching his pencil lightly against a new page.

Bucky stares into the darkness, a little more tense than he should be, falling asleep only after Steve slides down under the covers to do the same.

__________________________________________

“Hey, Stevie!” Bucky calls out as soon as he steps through the door, slamming it behind him. He shrugs out of his coat, switching the item he’s holding from hand to hand, and moves towards the kitchen where he can hear Steve rummaging around.

“What’s got you so excited?” the small blond asks just before he sneezes, hunching in on himself like it’ll make him warmer. Bucky hates that his friend won’t stay in bed when he’s sick.

“Gotcha something,” he says with a grin, and then he waves the item around, watching Steve’s eyes follow it with a little furrow between his brows.

“You mean you’ve been wasting money again.”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and makes a face. “I nearly keeled over tryina make enough to get you this. Ungrateful punk.”

Steve’s pale face lights up with a little smile. “Well, thanks, Buck. You wanna give it here?”

Bucky makes a show of it, mumbling and pulling it away every time Steve reaches out, laughing when Steve gives him a light shove. He hands it over, finally, and watches Steve flip open the flap of the book to run his fingers over the thick pages.

“Pretty nifty, huh? Whatcha gonna draw first?”

Steve gives a short shrug and sniffles, bringing up one hand to push hair away from his forehead. But then he looks up, eyes shining, lips turned up at the corner, and says, “Not much around… might as well start with you.”

He sits for a few hours, trying not to move too much. When Steve finishes and turns the book around carefully to show him, Bucky bites the inside of his cheek and wills the heat to stay away from his face.

The picture is so detailed, so carefully done. His eyes have a shine to them, his lips are quirked just right, and the cleft of his chin is shaded into the perfect shape. It’s like looking at a photograph – better than looking in a mirror because this is how _Steve_ sees him.

He says something about doing a real swell job, about how he just keeps getting better and better, and it makes Steve grin despite the exhaustion weighing him down.

Bucky wishes that he could draw, just so he could capture the way Steve looks when he’s not worried about their lives, when it’s just the two of them smiling and laughing. It’s become a rare sight.

__________________________________________

Bucky wakes up before Steve. He’s closer than where he started, could touch his fingertips to Steve’s back if he reached out just a few inches.

He leaves the room, silent and thoughtful and confused.

__________________________________________

Natasha, Barton, and Thor are in the kitchen by the time Bucky decides to leave the bathroom. Natasha hands him a little foil package that says POPTARTS on it. He likes the way they taste.

Steve joins them after nearly an hour, interrupting the companionable silence to ask how they’re doing.

Bucky doesn’t stay in the kitchen for long, opting to roam the halls in search of Doctor Banner instead. He doesn’t really know why, thinks that maybe he just wants to feel calmness that the other man can channel. JARVIS directs him to the lab. He’s hesitant to go in, but Tony and Banner welcome him and he finds himself plopping down onto a stool out of the way.

“Tony’s working on Sam’s wings,” Banner explains after a little while, when Tony’s frantic movements and mutterings make Bucky’s face scrunch with concern.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Banner sighs heavily. “He’d been working on something with another scientist – Hank Pym. Promised he wouldn’t put on the suit, so he needed something to work on and Pym proposed an experiment of sorts. Tony’s excellent with AI and Pym wanted to expand on some of their ideas... but Tony left the project after he heard about the whole DC fiasco and something happened that Pym couldn’t control. Their project’s been corrupted and has since gone off the grid.”

“That’s what that Coulson guy was talking about?” Bucky asks, looking from Banner to Tony and then back again.

“It seems likely,” Banner concedes. “Something else to worry about.”

“The world has so many problems now. Never used to be like this,” Bucky murmurs, recalling memories in a vague form so as not to get distracted. “We had  the depression and the war, but here it’s just… being away from HYDRA – being myself again, I don’t know how people get by anymore. It’s too much.”

Banner hums thoughtfully. “So the Tesseract’s magic worked. How’s the memory overload treating you?”

He shrugs and scratches at his chin. “Not really an overload. I think it’s all there. I mean, I know things now, about before, but it’s more distant than I thought it’d be.”

“If it’s what you wanted, it’ll be worth it.”

“Maybe,” Bucky tells him. “Doesn’t feel all the way right – didn’t really think it would, but I guess I tried to convince myself different.”

“You hoped for… what? Getting back to being the guy you were before HYDRA? Things like that change you, forever. But it doesn’t have to be bad,” Banner tells him. “You’re doing well now.”

Bucky holds his head like he wants to shake it, rolls it instead, unsure of what it means. His mouth is open, ready to argue, ready to laugh, unable to just breathe easily.

He misses his knitting. Later, Sam promises to go to the store for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get hurt // the gaslight anthem
> 
> Well... I'm not sure what happened here. I'll say that the next one should be better. 
> 
> You guys are so amazing. Your support means so much.


	15. it's cold as a tomb and it's dark in your room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s so easy to fall into step with Steve, as if they’d never fallen out of it. They move together – not against each other this time, but as one.
> 
> Steve uses quick jabs, flipping into kicks, throwing his shield and then holding it in front as he storms forward and bulldozes the enemies down. Watching him fight is amazing.
> 
> Bucky uses forceful kicks, crushes metal with metal, shoots with perfect aim. He’s fast and brutal; they both are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He stumbled into faith and thought, 'God, this is all there is'  
> The pictures in his mind arose and began to breathe  
> And no one saw and no one heard, they just followed lead  
> The pictures in his mind awoke and began to breed  
> They started off beneath the knowledge tree  
> and then they chopped it down to make a picket fence  
> and marching along the railroad tracks  
> they smiled real wide for the camera lenses  
> They made it past the enemy lines  
> just to become enslaved in the assembly lines"

“There’s an emergency.”

It’s the voice of the man named Coulson sounding through the rooms in their safe house, making everyone freeze. Bucky’s near the kitchen with Steve and Sam when their attention goes to a holographic image of Coulson in the middle of the room.

“There appears to be an army of robots surrounding the tower.”

“Robots?” Steve asks, surprised. “Do you know what they’re after?”

“It looks like they’re… waiting for something. We’ve got agents surrounding the area, but their numbers are multiplying.”

“We could use a little help, Cap,” Maria Hill adds.

“Sam.” Sam looks ready and expectant. “You’re staying here with Tony –”

“ _What_?” he demands, but Steve ignores him and sets his sights on Bucky.

“You’re staying, too.”

He doesn’t argue because it’d be pointless. He’s _not_ staying behind.

Steve observes him for a moment, suspicious of the silence, and then goes back to addressing Sam. “Stark’s still working on your wings. It’s dangerous out there to begin with. I can’t let you get involved without your suit.”

“Steve, man –”

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Bucky knows that Steve really is. “Please, sit this one out.”

He disappears then, shouting out to Natasha and Barton and Thor as he goes. Sam watches, looking peeved and forlorn but still ready to follow the orders he’s given. Bucky heads towards the room he’d shared with Steve, ignoring Sam as he calls out behind him, “Hey, where you goin’?”

He throws his old suit on, buckling buckles and pulling straps in a hurry, lacing his boots up tight, and then he stalks to the lab. Banner and Tony talk in hushed voices about Coulson’s message but they look up when he appears.

“You gonna tell me where the weapons are?” Bucky demands. “Or am I gonna have to go looking?”

Tony gives him a look. “Something tells me Cap put you on the bench.”

“And I need to be out there. So – guns, knives, grenades. Do you even have anything here?”

“A few things,” Tony admits. “You’re not the only assassin under my roof.”

“ _Where_?” Bucky asks, impatient.

Tony only hesitates for a few seconds before folding and asking JARVIS to lead the way.

__________________________________________

It’s already chaos by the time Bucky slips into the fight around the tower. There must be thousands of robots zooming around the sky and stomping across the streets, not even counting the ones that have already been downed. He doesn’t spot Steve right away, but can see Natasha and Barton easily firing side-by-side, concentrated on picking off as many as they can from a distance before they have to slip into close combat.

Lightning strikes the sky and Bucky goes towards where it comes from, trying to stay unnoticed while shooting down any robots that get too close. When he spots Thor (and it isn’t hard, what with his mighty hammer poised straight to the sky), he sees Steve behind him, working back-to-back solidly, as if they’d done this before – and they had, he reminds himself, in the New York battle he’d heard about a handful of times.

Memories of war, of fighting next to Steve, having his back, start to surface. Explosions around become explosions from decades past and it makes him flinch and clutch his weapon tighter. He wishes for a sniper rifle.

He spots agents running around, shooting and ducking. He doesn’t linger when he sees several get thrown down, possibly for good.

Bullets fly from his gun even as he makes his way around, scanning the area. He spots an agent being thrown off a building by a robot, can’t get there fast enough to catch him. The man hits the ground and doesn’t move, and his weapons drop atop of him, unharmed. His wish for a sniper rifle comes true – but at the cost of a man’s life. He’s at war again.

He picks the weapon up off the broken man and heads towards a fire-escape. Robots zoom by and get shot out of the sky by his hand while he climbs, in a rush to get his sights back on Steve. More lighting cracks through the sky, farther away this time, and he curses to himself.

Bucky can see Natasha and Barton as they move together, trying not to stray from each other, and then he sees Steve who has no problem rushing away from Thor, throwing his shield with enough force to cut through a horde of on-foot robots marching their way. A laser slices his arm before he can catch the shield to block it.

Bucky watches Steve flip and twist through the scope of his rifle. He observes the quick and brutal movements of punches that go straight through metal and come back out with fistfuls of wire.

Even with Thor raining lightning down on the bots, all of them are starting to get surrounded.

“Stark!” Bucky hears Steve bark desperately through the coms, hoping JARVIS will patch him through to the safe house. “Stark, please – tell me you’ve got something.”

“Like _what_?”

“ _Anything_ ,” Steve strains to say as he narrowly dodges a metal fist to the back of his head. “This –” A hard yell cuts off his sentence as he goes down and Bucky takes a shot, downing two robots with one shell, and then he takes three more shots in rapid succession, locking onto targets fast and easy.  He can see Steve craning his head, trying to look around as Thor yanks him up.

“I’ve got some drones of my own,” Tony tells him quickly. “I’ll send them your way.”

“There’s gotta be something going on here,” Barton says suddenly, his voice hitching as he undoubtedly runs. “Where are they coming from?”

Bucky fires into the distance again – one, two, three.

“Bucky?” Steve calls out over the com, guessing at his presence.

“Pretend I’m not here,” he replies as calmly as he can, lining up another shot. One, two. He pulls back to reload.

“I’m glad –” Steve pauses to grunt, “– you are.”

Bucky gives a breathless chuckle and stares through the scope again, picking off any robot that gets too close to Steve.

“Admitting you made a bad call?”

“No.” Steve’s words accent a flurry of hits. “Trying to keep you safe is never a bad call.”

“It’s a stupid one,” Bucky argues mildly, turning his sights away from Steve just long enough to take out some of the robots in pursuit of Natasha and Barton who are trying to group up.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Steve decides. “Just –”

“Sure,” Bucky interrupts. “Should I make my way down?”

It’s instinctual for Steve to say “ _No,_ ” but then rethinks it. “Yeah – yeah, okay, Buck.”

__________________________________________

It’s so easy to fall into step with Steve, as if they’d never fallen out of it. They move together – not against each other this time, but as one.

Steve uses quick jabs, flipping into kicks, throwing his shield and then holding it in front as he storms forward and bulldozes the enemies down. Watching him fight is amazing.

Bucky uses forceful kicks, crushes metal with metal, shoots with perfect aim. He’s fast and brutal; they both are.

The fight keeps on and Bucky can see Steve is getting drained. He isn’t slowing down, but his movements are wilder, less controlled, and he tries so hard to push through. Bucky is nowhere near tired yet, so he flurries around Steve, picking off bots with bullets and crushing them with his fist.

Stark’s drones fly into the fray and start attacking targets in the air. Steve tries desperately to get as many civilians away from the buildings as he can and ends up jumping through windows, landing a little harsher each time. Thor bats the robots away, fries them with lightning, tries not to take down the drones that were sent to assist them though some do fall. He can’t see Natasha and Barton, but he hears them just fine.

“We’ve got another problem!” Natasha calls out over the com, her voice cracking.

“What the _hell –_ is this guy teleporting?!”

“Magic?” Natasha breathes. “Looks like Hydra might be getting in on the action!”

Tony curses into the com, tells them, “On our way.” Steve doesn’t argue. They need the help.

More things start exploding in the distance and it makes Bucky twitch and hunch down, ready to drop and take cover. A street full of robots turns into a battlefield of soldiers, running and falling and being vaporized by blue beams. He’s not wearing anything on his head, except he is – a helmet, unstrapped, swinging side-to-side as he runs for his life and drops to the trenches. Steve isn’t beside him, isn’t supposed to be, is back home safe in Brooklyn, so the guy next to him is big and has a bowler hat that gets shot off.

_Tell ‘em we need cover!_

His voice is hoarse, from calling orders, from shouting over gunfire and explosions.

It’s a scary place and he’s so young, so naïve even though he knew where he was going. Never thought it’d be so bad, so terrible and frightening. Makes him want to scream and cry and he just wants to go home to Steve, but these men are counting on him and he fights, shoots accurately and calmly even when his body wants to shake from emotions rather than the vibrations pushing through the earth. There’s death and chaos – so long, 70 years, still, _now_.

He gets shot at by robot laser beams. He doesn’t disappear; this isn’t HYRA, but they _are_ here, in the form of two magical beings, apparently.

The streets of New York are filled with fighting. He can’t escape it.

Bucky rushes through a group of bots, smashes them with fists and boots before jumping up to catch one zooming through the air. He forces it forward and then pulls the wires from its head before leaping through the air to land on the next one.

“Bucky!” he hears Steve shouting at him, through the air as he flies, to the ground as he falls off a train –

“I see Widow and the Hawk,” he grunts out, flipping off of the bot as it crashes into the side of a brick building. He crushes his fingertips into the wall and slides down with ease. “There’s a blur – and a girl with… red smoke or something.”

“On your 8,” Steve calls out, and Bucky shoots at the angle without even looking back. “I’m behind you. Keep your distance!”

Widow and Hawkeye are out of their depth. They can’t fight the guy because he moves too fast, too randomly, unseen for periods of time before he strikes, and the woman floats in the air and throws red shapes at them, exploding into sides of buildings and overturning cars.

“Look up.”

It’s Sam’s voice through the com this time and Bucky does as he says. He’s soaring through the air, fast, spinning and showering bullets onto the bots flying towards him.

“Is that even safe?” Steve demands, but he sounds at least a little relieved.

“Protoype. Better than nothing.”

“Better than what he had,” Tony adds, and then there’s music, loud and familiar to Bucky, and it’s a distraction to the new, powerful enemies. He shoots missiles at them and hits, but they won’t go down for long.

Bucky swings his sniper rifle from off his shoulder and looks through the scope, shooting at the man with white hair. He moves just in time, but Bucky knows the bullet at least clipped him.

And then he’s being pushed with so much force that he goes flying through the glass wall of a random shop.

He can hear Steve running after him.

“I can get a lock on the runner,” Tony declares, “but my missiles can’t shoot fast enough. Gonna need to fix that later.”

“I better not hear from Pepper about this,” Steve says, but he sounds more breathless, more pained, and it worries Bucky as he scrambles to his feet. “You shouldn’t be out here, Stark, remember?”

Bucky can imagine Tony waving him off. “I’m needed. Besides…” he practically sings, crackling accompanying his words. “We’ve got the Big Guy incoming, and leading an army of his own.”

“Huh?”

They hear a roar that shakes the earth and then they see him, a giant green monster leaping through the air, being followed by even _bigger_ robots of red and gold color.

“I call them Hulkbusters,” Tony says offhandedly, if not a little proud. “Bruce’s idea. Can take the big Guy down, if needed, so just think of what they can do to our magical enemies.”

Steve huffs out something that sounds both hysterical and ecstatic. “I think now’s the time to thank you.”

“For what?” Tony sounds smug and curious.

“For just being you.” And then – “Bucky? You okay?”

They hear his gunfire before his voice. “Peachy keen. How’re you doing, Stevie?”

“Better than I could be.”

“Just take it easy for a minute,” Bucky tells him as he tries to climb through the wreckage of the neighboring building. “Go sit under your shield or something.”

“Now’s not the time to take a load off, Buck.”

He snorts. “Never is.”

He leaps onto another robot, sees Natasha doing the same, and they stare at each other for a moment, both frantic and insane. They jump down near the woman and manage to get hits in before the blur is back and knocking them away with anger, so hard that Bucky smashes into the stairs leading to the subway and rolls all the way down. The place is abandoned by now – no, there’s something there. Bucky sees it through blurry eyes, ignores the blood trickling down his temple in order to get a better view. It looks like a man, a robot; an android, maybe? He’s green and yellow and just… staring.

And there are robots surrounding, rushing forward to attack the intruder.

“I’ve got a situation!” He tries to get up onto his feet before the robots can hound him. “I need some cover.”

“Headed your way,” Barton answers first.

He’s in a hell of a mess.

__________________________________________

The man-robot is strange. He doesn’t want to fight, it seems, but he attacks when Bucky does and he lets his robot minions run wild. Natasha and Barton find him on the tiled floor, swinging his metal arm to fight off the bots piling against him, shooting his gun when there’s an opening.

There’s an explosion to the right that causes chunks of debris to fall atop Bucky and the robots just as Barton shoots and arrow at the android.

Barton’s hit in the disorder, more than once, by a mixture of red magic and robot lasers, and goes down but still manages to roll himself out of the way. Bucky pulls himself up from the debris and takes out whatever he can before ducking behind the same cover. Natasha shoots, hitting four more targets as she calls out for help over the com and follows.

“Clint,” she says sharply, but her face is nearly as pale as his.

He coughs and winces, pressing down harshly over one of the more fatal wounds.

“Clint, listen to me,” Natasha practically hisses, but there’s a waver that she can’t mask. It’s not until Barton looks up at her that she says, “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Damn right,” he spits out, showing his bloodied teeth and lips when he winces.

“Stark will be here any second now. You’ll get flown out and patched up, and you’ll be _fine_.”

Bucky listens in between ducking out to shoot targets that get too close. It sounds more like Natasha’s trying to convince herself.

“Anything you –” Barton coughs, continues haggardly, “– say, Tasha.”

Bucky can see the face she makes as she presses down on the wounds with cloth torn from Barton’s uniform. “Blood loss makes you sentimental.”

“Yeah?” Barton says, breathily, with a wheezing laugh he shouldn’t be able to spare. Bucky turns back just in time to see Barton reaching up slowly with a shaky hand to touch Natasha’s neck, where a little arrow dangles. He gets blood on the silver and her skin, but neither of them cares. “Haven’t –” another cough, “– taken it off, have ya?”

Natasha gives a tight smile and presses down a little harder, willing more pressure to stop the blood loss. “I like arrows.”

Barton smiles again, faintly this time. “Me too. Like you more.”

Bucky feels as if he’s intruding on a moment, but his shots are the only thing keeping them from being ambushed at the moment since Barton requires all of Natasha’s attention.

“I know you do,” she says so softly that he can barely hear it. It’s fond and sad and unfinished, like she wants to say more but won’t.

“You gonna be okay without me?” he asks, and Natasha’s face goes hard. Her eyes look bright with tears that will not spill.

“ _Clint_ ,” she warns.

“No, no, I just – without me on your tail, I mean. Out of commission for a couple of weeks… I know you’ll be fine, but you’ll miss me.”

Natasha laughs, light and a little wild, and says, like a promise, “I’ll be around.”

Barton stares at her until Stark crashes through, bandages in one hand and repulsar rays shooting out of the other.

“No one’s croaked on me, have they?” he calls out over the chaos. Barton’s laugh is filled with pain.

Still, he quips, “Not yet, Tinman.”

Bucky jumps out from behind the cover to cause a better distraction as Natasha and Tony work on patching Barton up enough to get him out of the chaos. Glancing out the hole to look onto the street, he doesn’t see Steve anywhere and it worries him. He wonders what would happen if it was him or Steve down with the other by their side, ultimately helpless. What would they say to each other? Something stupid, most likely. Something true.

Something he should’ve said before, on the train.

He doesn’t know where these thoughts are coming from but it’s not the time for them.

The android man has escaped and his hordes of robots follow him, leaving the magical HYDRA agents outside.

Natasha and Bucky climb through the mess to get back on street level. They spot Hulk swatting at the blurry man, the Hulkbusters chasing after the fleeing robots. Thor’s attack against the woman is stopped and he’s pushed away, his hammer going the opposite direction. Above, Sam is trying to decide if he should follow the retreating robots too or do something on ground level, something that will most likely get his wings broken and put him in extreme danger.

There’s an explosion near Bucky that makes his ears ring and, on instinct, his body drops and he covers his head. He can’t remember doing this for 70 years, but his memories are flashing full force and all he can see are people getting body parts blown off.

He’s hit by something while he’s down. It pierces through him, makes his insides burn and he cries out in pain and fear. It feels like Zola all over again.

He hears Steve shout _Bucky!_ His eyes open long enough for his vision to settle on his friend rushing forward, holding his hand out for a shield that never comes. Something else flies into his hand instead. Steve doesn’t even think about it, doesn’t even pause before he’s flinging it – the _hammer_ – hard, angry and scared and determined. The woman can’t block it and goes down with a shout. The hammer comes back again as he grasps at air, and the blurry man smacks into him but Steve smacks back, barely even flinching because the hammer anchors him, and then it forces down lightning strong enough to crack the cement and shatter any windows that are still intact.

It’s only then that he realizes what’s happened. He stares down at Thor’s hammer in his hands, looking confused and unsure before he lets it drop to his feet like a dead weight.

“How… is that possible?” Natasha asks, and her voice is so weary but she still stands tall.

“In this moment, my father has deemed you worthy.” Thor moves forward until he’s standing in front of Steve with the hammer at their feet.

The blurry man slams into Steve with an angry yell. Thor grabs his arm before he can go flying, and then Steve yanks the hammer up again and holds it in front like a shield, but also like a warning.

“Stop!” he shouts, and it’s the most commanding he’s ever sounded. The blurry man with the white hair stands still, though parts of his body appear to vibrate beyond his control. Steve shoves the hammer into Thor’s hands and heaves a wheezy breath. No one moves. “We don’t need to do this.”

“Stay away from my sister!” the white haired man demands.

Steve holds his hands out. “If she stays away from my friends, I will. I don’t know who you are, but I can guess this isn’t your fight. You don’t have to put yourself on the line for HYDRA.”

The man is gone in the blink of an eye, but he hasn’t moved far. Bucky can see, as he pulls himself back onto his feet with Natasha’s help, that he’s helping the woman he called his sister.

And then both of them disappear.

__________________________________________

They’ve got a lot to answer for. Well, mostly Steve does. He’s hounded by the press and accosted to appear at Capitol Hill, like Natasha had, and all he wants to do is rest. He’s got wounds that are healing but the blood loss is making him sway.

Bucky can’t help him. He sticks to the shadows, to the rubble, out of sight, and watches. He can’t pull Steve away. He’s grateful that Tony can.

They’re brought a jet and Bucky sneaks onto it without anyone noticing.

He’s as tired as the rest of them, just wants to sleep, but all he can do is sit there and watch Steve slump down across from him, barely able to hold the shield in his lap as they take off.

They all move to the lab to start patching themselves up, except for Natasha, who heads straight for the room Barton’s in without even scolding Tony for leaving him alone.

Bucky’s got quite a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing too harmful, so after bandaging the worst on his head, he goes to the bathroom nearest the room he shared with Steve to get cleaned up. His metal arm is smudged with dirt and his own blood; it washes off just fine.

He doesn’t take a shower, is too sore and too tired to go through the motions, ends up washing his hands and face and then moves slowly into the bedroom with his hair pulled back.

The flashes are back. Being marched towards a factory, giving up because fighting would assure death to all, trying to shield his men (the guy with the bowler hat, the dark skinned man with a busted radio – Dugan and Jones, Howling Commandos, friends). They’re all locked in cages like animals, stared at with narrowed eyes. Lab rats.

Bucky is one of the first few to be taken.

No one who gets led away ever comes back. (Not even him, not fully.)

He curls up on the bed and wraps his arms tight around himself, willing the memories to be replaced with something else.

He’s practically rocking himself, eyes staring blankly at the wall, by the time Steve comes in.

Steve doesn’t pause, doesn’t say a word. His towel gets hung up on the closet’s handle before he drops himself onto the bed, pulling his legs up onto the mattress and then turning so he’s able to glance down. Bucky watches a hand reach out, not too fast or too slow, tensing slightly when warm fingers graze his forehead before slipping into his hair, a palm resting near his temple. The fingers rub at his scalp idly, as if he were a nervous puppy, but it feels too nice to pull away from – it’s distracting, brings his mind full-force back into the present.

Bucky stares up at Steve and Steve stares down at Bucky, and neither of them says a word. They might’ve, once; might’ve felt the need to fill the comfortable silence with a joke or a wisecrack, senseless conversation just because it was easy. They don’t really do that anymore, feels sort of awkward when they try, but right now, two pairs of eyes in different shades of blue do all the talking they need.

__________________________________________

He wakes up a few hours later, the room nearly pitch-black save for the dull moonlight seeping through the slats in the blinds. His breathing is a little too ragged, worked up by a dream he’s already forgotten, but he has a reason to stay calm when he realizes he’s not alone.

Steve’s pressed against his back, thick arm heavy over his side, slack mouth pressed against a head of dark, tangled hair. He’s curled enough to feel terribly small, especially against a body so big. It’s a mixed feeling. There’s tightness in his lower belly, heaviness to his lids, and fluttering in his chest, but part of him wants to pull away, wants to get out from under the restricting embrace because it feels _nice_ and _good_ and it’s unnerving.

He slides out of the grasp and out the door before Steve can wake up, locking himself in the dark bathroom, dozing with the cold tile pressed against his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blue lips // regina spektor
> 
> Action is hard. But we're still moving along.
> 
> I have a thing for Steve being worthy enough to wield Thor's hammer, so of course that was gonna make a cameo at some point. I can't really be sorry for it. (And yay for some Clintasha?!)
> 
> You guys make me want to just keep going with this. Thank you for taking the time to comment. It brings me happiness.


	16. when i sneak to your bed and pour salt in your wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wave of pain washes through his mind, only it feels distant, weak. He winces, needs to think fast.
> 
> Words. Phrase. Pain. Trigger phrase? Subduing?
> 
> They seem to have an affinity for infiltration.
> 
> Freeze. Play it out. Get inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I hope we stay thick as thieves, butter and bread  
> pillars of colonial homes  
> and I wish I could shout you out, false start  
> Don't get your cane caught in the cracks  
> Buckle your seatbelts, polluting the airwaves  
> Single and lonely, yeah  
> And you said you are unconsolable  
> And you said you are uh, and you said you are  
> Uh, unconsolable, uncontrollable  
> Come up to my house, drink with my friends  
> You can lay on my couch, aching to start all over again  
> Go on back to your room; wait a minute, it's my room  
> Was it something I said? Was it something I said?"

Bucky wakes up with a sore cheek and a blanket covering his stretched-out body.

He stands and his muscles ache, not from sleeping on the hard floor (he’s been in worse positions), but from the catalogue of bruises he’d garnered the previous day.

The place is quiet and seemingly empty, so Bucky assumes most of Steve’s team has taken up missions. He’s restless, needs a mission of his own, needs to be useful.

Bucky stops by the kitchen to eat, less than what he needs but enough to make the discomfort in his stomach subside, and then he heads towards the lab, forgoing any direction from JARVIS because Tony, at least, would be there.

“You overwhelmed yet?” Bucky can hear Tony ask once he gets close enough. “And don’t lie.”

“I don’t,” Steve says, but he sounds tired. Bucky wonders if he got any sleep.

“Sure you do,” Tony says with false cheerfulness. “Everyone does.”

“I’m honest when it counts,” Steve says offhandedly. “And no. What I saw yesterday wasn’t any more surprising than an alien invasion.”

Tony snorts. “I gotta admit, you held it together really well – both times. So…”

“You’re pretty bad at being subtle,” Steve observes aloud, causing Tony to scoff.

“I feel insulted. But fine. To the point. I’m just wondering what happens when things get really bad. Like, _extremely_. Because yesterday? No doubt that’ll happen again, only ten times worse.”

“If we have a plan, we have a chance,” Steve insists with real confidence. “Maybe details change, but the concept of world domination stays the same in every era. So we fight. We go in smart, come out strong and another step closer to taking down HYDRA for good.”

Bucky can hear Tony’s thoughtful hum, followed by clanking metal. “And the robots? Not HYDRA issued, Braveheart. We have to split our focus on this one.”

“You go for the robots and I’ll go for HYDRA.”

The clanking of the metal stops. “That’s fine. Believe me, it is, but…” Bucky can imagine the look of thought on Tony’s face. “It’s gotten pretty personal for you, right? Maybe –”

“Don’t ask me, Tony,” Steve interrupts, his voice softer than his words would have you believe. “Please.”

There’s a long pause and Bucky considers making noise to announce his presence, but Stark speaks before he has to. “I want HYDRA dead and gone. Trust me. But I heard about your little suicide stunt on the Insight helicarrier.”

There’s a pause long and heavy enough to cause Bucky to nearly peak around the corner.

But then Steve speaks, says, “I was doing what I had to,” with such finality that anyone would let it go at that. He already knows that Stark isn’t just anyone.

“Saying you _don’t_ lie is now a _confirmed_ lie.”

“You weren’t there,” Steve argues, his voice stern. Bucky can picture a jaw set hard enough to crack teeth. “You don’t know what was happening when I told Hill to fire.”

“I know that you chose not to escape, and I know the reason. He’s listening outside the door right now, in fact.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow and his fists clench, and _fuck you, Stark_ is all he wants to say.

“I know he is.” Steve’s tone is lighter, but still strained. “And I know that this conversation is over.”

“For now,” Stark challenges. Bucky rounds the corner just in time to see the consideration in Steve’s glare.

“Until further notice.”

Pushing strands of hair back to the top of his head, Bucky enters the room as if he hadn’t been caught eavesdropping, glancing between Steve and Stark and then back to Steve again. They were talking about him, so it should be awkward, but it isn’t. He doesn’t really care.

“Where is everyone?”

“Trying to find HYDRA’s family act from yesterday. You up for a mission?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Sure. What’d you have in mind?”

Steve grips the belt of his uniform (the SHIELD issued version) and lets a deep breath pass silently through his lips. Bucky’s relieved to see he’s nothing but calm now. “Just a run-of-the-mill base raid.”

Bucky purses his lips and nods, trying not to twitch under Steve’s observant gaze. “You have a destination?” he asks, unsure if Steve’s bringing him along because he’s bound to know of a few places to search or because he just wants the company.

But Steve nods, says, “Jet’s on standby, courtesy of Agent Hill. Suit up.”

__________________________________________

Bucky can recall always knowing that Steve’s a little insane. It feels good – albeit scary – to witness that this hasn’t changed.

He’s amazed and angry when Steve jumps out of the jet _without a parachute_ , especially when a big fuss was made to assure Bucky’d had one strapped securely to his back. He follows Steve without deploying the chute, landing in the water with a splash, receiving a glare for his troubles.

They hit a HYDRA base in Rhode Island, one that had been constructed after the DC fiasco, or so Steve says. Bucky asks about the intel and gets told it comes from Fury and is confirmed by Hill.

Bucky cites stealth as a reason to allow him first crack at the base, but Steve scoffs and smirks, and then he’s heading towards the front of the building and Bucky’s heading towards the back, both of them picking off the watchers without being detected.

It’s impressive and new; Bucky can’t recall Steve ever being really stealthy during the war, though he knows he never saw him sneak into the base to rescue him and the rest of the men captured by Schmidt and Zola. But it looks as if Steve’s picked up some tricks from Natasha since then.

It isn’t long before they’re fighting side-by-side and then back-to-back, throwing punches and knives (on Bucky’s part, at least). He only falters once when Steve tosses the shield at him, expecting it to be thrown at a group of agents storming around a corner closest to Bucky before boomeranging back.

There’s a swell of something inside him amidst the carnage; fondness, perhaps, because Steve trusts him with the _shield_. And Steve throws the shield a couple of times at a certain angle, knocking out enemies and then bouncing off into Bucky’s direction instead of his own. He catches it easily with his metal arm, uses it for melee before sending it flying back.

It’s a game that he likes playing.

There’s nothing at the HYDRA base, but it doesn’t matter; it just means there are less psychos in the world.

__________________________________________

The jet ride to Connecticut is the only rest they get before they’re invading another factory. It goes similarly, nearly as smooth, only Bucky gets grazed in the aftermath of an explosion this time around. He might be imagining it, but he thinks Steve’s a little more brutal with his takedowns after that.

They change into civilian clothes on the jet and stop in New Jersey to stay at a hotel. They get settled in their room momentarily before Steve’s leaving to pick them up some late-night food.

Bucky’s alone in the room, comforted by the trust Steve puts in him and disconcerted by the loneliness seeping into his chest. His thoughts drift to months prior, when he was alone and unhinged (is he, still?); how he snuck around cities, stealing from convenience stores and blacking out in showers. It’s not like that anymore, he tries to convince himself, thinking of Steve and Natasha and Sam and Stark. People _care_ about him. He has _friends_. Amazement still follows that thought.

Things are… better now, better than they were before. But he likes to think that they aren’t as good as they could be. It gives him something to work towards.

Bucky takes a moment to glance around the room, to really take it in. It’s nicer than that of a motel, is bigger and clean and simple. Two twin beds are the focus of the space, with a nightstand in between them. There’s a dresser with a TV on top, a curtained window on one wall and a bathroom door on the other.

Bucky observes the window and calculates the damage (hardly any) they’d sustain if they had to jump out of it. His flesh fingertips run across the wall, finding the points that would be easier to crash through. He decides that the bed closest to the door will be his before he goes to take a shower, laughing at how absurd he feels when he decides he doesn’t like the way the shampoo smells.

__________________________________________

They eat with the television on, taking in the hum of the low words and sounds without really listening. Steve tries to make small talk, about baseball (Dodgers and Mets and _disappointment_ ), about an art museum he visited a while ago (the Smithsonian is never mentioned), and about how _good_ food is these days (he smiles around the taco he’s taking bites of). Bucky doesn’t say much at all, mostly just _oh_ and _huh_ and _yeah_ , sometimes _no_. He isn’t sure if he has anything to contribute to this conversation; the shine in Steve’s eyes makes him want to try.

On the floor, backs up against their respective beds and their legs crisscrossed, Bucky runs his fingers through his hair and swallows. Steve stares, waiting patiently with a twitch to his lips he probably isn’t even aware of.

“How old were you when we met?” he asks, as casual as he can, following up with a bite of his own taco. He watches Steve lean, tilting his head back a little, staring down at Bucky from over his nose. “I remember it,” he assures, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Schoolyard… everyone’s small. You were getting dirt kicked in your face.”

Steve smiles and his eyes crinkle. He looks as if being so young and already getting beaten up is something to be proud of. Maybe it is.

“I was 5,” Steve confirms. He nods towards Bucky. “You were 6.”

“Why were they hassling you, anyway? Hard to think that far back.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Yeah, it’s pretty hazy, but I seem to recall it having something to do with my hearing.” Bucky watches Steve shrug. “They thought I was ignoring them.”

Bucky looks away, trying to summon the memories of his youth.  Steve was small, skinny and short, and his health was the poorest thing Bucky had ever heard of. There was the asthma and the heart problems and the constant colds. He’d strain himself trying to hear everything the first time, never liked asking people to repeat things.  Bucky had to follow him around to make sure the kid’s heart or lungs didn’t just decide to stop working.

That wasn’t the only reason he followed Steve, though. It wasn’t even the most important.

Bucky shakes his head and frowns at his memories. “You were always getting into fights, probably started half of ‘em. You could’ve dropped dead any minute and I just let you keep at it.”

Steve’s face scrunches up in an all too familiar way. “You couldn’t stop me, and I damn well let you know it every chance I got, but you were always there, Bucky. That’s what you should be thinking about.”

Bucky licks the sauce from the corner of his mouth, his fingers wiping over his jeans. He tries to think of something else to say.

“Buck,” Steve says with a sigh, but nothing else follows.

“I was drafted,” he practically blurts out, like the guilt of something now so insignificant survived 70 plus years. Glancing up from the floor to check Steve’s startled expression, he continues, “I told you I enlisted – The museum says I enlisted, but I remember the card in the mail.”

Steve watches him with a clear, unwavering gaze, searching for something Bucky can’t guess. He doesn’t twitch under it, doesn’t look away, hardly even blinks. He sees the way Steve’s stomach sucks in with a short, silent laugh, the way he turns his head just slightly, a ghost of a sad smile taking over his mouth.

“I know,” he simply says.

Bucky’s not sure if that’s a relief. “Since when?” is the first thing he thinks to ask.

Steve hesitates. “Most of the draftees had specific serial numbers. You were saying yours in Zola’s lab.” Bucky makes a noise that could be a scoff. Steve raises his brows. “What, you think that bothers me?”

“I think it would’ve,” he replies.

Steve lets out a deep breath and stretches his legs out as much as he can without touching Bucky across from him. “Probably,” he admits after a beat, “but only ‘cause you thought you had to lie about it.”

Bucky hunches his shoulders. “You just – you wanted to enlist so badly. I knew you’d never get in and I hadn’t planned on going anywhere, but I got the draft and… how was I supposed to tell you I didn’t wanna go when that’s all you were talking about that year? I was able, you weren’t. You wanted to go and I didn’t. You’d have been real mad about the whole thing, so I told you I enlisted. I mean, you were still mad, but you looked at me like – like I was something special, like I was the only one doing the right thing. I couldn’t tell you otherwise.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” Steve says honestly, face serious. “A lot of good men were drafted. Didn’t change the way they served.”

Steve’s words settle inside Bucky like defeat. He doesn’t know what he wants to hear, only that it should be something else. _I didn’t wanna be there_ , he should confess; _I wanted to stay home with you,_ but that wouldn’t change anything either.

“Just thought you should know.”

He stands, then, and gathers up his trash, stuffing it in the small basket by the dresser.

“Bucky –” Steve tries to say.

“I’m going to bed.”

Bucky stops in front of his bed, waiting for Steve’s reply, for his protest or argument. There’s isn’t one, just a resigned _okay._

Bucky wants to curse him, to spin around with an angry face and grab the front of his shirt, shake him or punch him or something. Steve’s passive behavior is infuriating and it makes him want to cry with frustration, something he can’t ever remember doing before. He wants to tell Steve to put up a fight like he used to, like he did when his small frame was filled with righteous fury, like he did before he let his shield drop to the Potomac with a disturbing lack of self-preservation.

Bucky gets in bed and doesn’t look back at Steve.

__________________________________________

Steve wakes Bucky up and tells him, blearily, the information Natasha’s passed to him. They’ve already got a tail on HYDRA’s magical duo and are requesting backup on standby. He tells Bucky to go back to sleep.

It doesn’t happen.

Bucky lies awake on a mattress that’s uncomfortable and too soft, turning atop the comforter. He can hear Steve’s breathing, knows he’s still awake, too. He checks the red numbers on the alarm clock several times in their silence.

“It’s not like you thought, huh?” he whispers, barely loud enough for Steve to hear even though Bucky knows he will.

There’s a rustling on the opposite bed. “What do you mean?”

Bucky licks his lips, shrugs in the dark. “Me remembering… s’not the same.”

“You thought it would be?” Steve’s tone is curious.

“Guess part of me did,” Bucky says as softly as before. “Hoped it.”

Steve makes a grunting noise and shuffles on the bed again. “I’m starting to think there’s something you wanna tell me, Buck.”

Bucky smirks darkly. _I wish I knew_. “Can’t say there is.”

“You know…” Bucky can hear Steve sit himself up on the creaking bed. “You’re starting to get on my nerves.”

Bucky laughs, short but real. “Good to know.”

“ _Bucky._ ”

“ _Steve_.”

It’s childish in a way that Bucky _can_ remember, but still knows it feels foreign.

“I can’t say I don’t wish things could be like they used to,” Steve murmurs, “but I don’t just mean you. I mean _everything_ sometimes. The first few months after waking up, all I could think about was how different everything was. A year later, I was wondering what life would’ve been like if I hadn’t crashed, if I’d been more careful. Now? I think about being better.” Bucky doesn’t hear Steve come closer, but he feels weight dipping the bed behind him where a body makes itself comfortable. “After I met Sam, he asked what made me happy. I told him I didn’t know.” Bucky lets a breath out through his nose as he blinks at the wall, willing himself not to turn around. “I’m happy now, Buck. And if I can allow myself that, after everything, then so can you.”

It’d be pointless, telling him he’s wrong, so he says instead, “Go to sleep, Steve.”

Bucky doesn’t know where it comes from (instinct?), but it’s an impulse to reach behind him when Steve starts to move, curling metal fingers gently around an oddly delicate wrist. He doesn’t turn or speak, doesn’t tug, just holds and waits. Steve stays silent, twisting on the bed, from sitting to lying down pressed up tight against Bucky’s back so as not to fall off the twin-sized bed. It’s ridiculous, two larger-than-average men trying to share a bed that’s barely big enough for one.

Bucky lets Steve’s wrist fall so he can scoot over farther, right against the edge. Steve’s arm slings over his waist reflexively when it seems like one of them might fall right off, even with the larger man laying more than half on top of the one below him.

This more than anything should feel stifling, should have Bucky running for the cold tiles of the bathroom. He doesn’t. He stays underneath Steve, engulfed by the equivalent of a furnace, and though it makes him tense at odd moments, he doesn’t want to move. He’s tired of running, and that’s what he’s been doing, isn’t it? Part of him knows he has.

__________________________________________

“Got a lock on the fast guy,” Stark says over the com. “ _Shit_.” Bucky knows that means Stark’s missiles have missed. Again. “Now he’s just messing with me!”

“Doctor Banner?” Steve pants out, straining to hold his shield in place against the magic being forced against him. “We could use some help here.”

Bucky rolls across the pavement and leans up to shoot. His bullets are deflected, but the woman’s concentration needs work and his distraction is enough for Natasha to get in close. He sees her throw a disc he’s all too familiar with (she calls it the Widow’s Bite, apparently) before he’s being pushed at a speed faster than he can even comprehend. It makes him sick and he can’t help but vomit a little once he hits the building, tears pooling in his eyes when his shoulder gets dislocated.

“I hate magic,” Barton bites out, sounding more than a little harried. He really shouldn’t be out in the field, but not even Natasha could keep him sidelined. “I really, _really_ do.”

“What’s that?” Falcon asks suddenly when a beeping blares through their coms.

“Incoming call from Coulson,” Stark says distractedly. “Might as well patch him through.” And then – “Hey, pal. How’s it goin?”

“Intel says we have a name for Lukin’s partner,” Coulson’s calm voice cuts through, straight to the point. “Baron Wolfgang von Strucker. We believe he’s in possession of Loki’s scepter.”

“And how do we know this?” Steve manages, following up with an angry cry. Bucky can’t worry about what’s going on when he’s trying to reset his shoulder.

“Fury’s been busy.”

Natasha tells Coulson to have Fury send his info their way just before Hulk’s roar drowns out all sound.

Bucky finds his way back to Steve, stumbling through his pain. He aims to shoot at the blurry man zooming around Hulk but Steve reaches out and pulls him close, in between his body and the shield, defending both of them from a surge of red. Bucky’s eyes land on Steve’s shaking arms, so he reaches out and clasps his metal fingers around the strap, helping to hold it steady.

Steve gives him a thankful glance and then jerks his head forward, silently counting to three. Bucky sprints forward just as Steve does, a hard chest smacking against his back as they rush forward, shield clasped tightly by three hands.

The woman soars up and out of the way of their charge – right into Iron Man and Falcon, knocking her unconscious. The blurry man is there in an instant, practically snarling.

“She’s fine!” Tony insists, throwing the woman’s limp-body over his shoulder.

Bucky shoots the man, because he’s vengeful and he can.

The man falls down and gets back up within seconds, his body vibrating and blurring, and all of them witness the bullet being forced out. Bucky’s eye twitches when he observes the wound already closing.

The things HYDRA does to people.

“What’s your sister’s name?” Sam asks carefully, landing on his feet with his hands held palm-up.

The man vibrates in his spot, spits out, “Wanda.”

“And your name?”

“Pietro.”

“Okay, Pietro,” Sam says in a soothing tone. “Wanda’s gonna be just fine. I know what it looks like, but we don’t want a fight. We wanna help both of you. So maybe hold off on killing us?”

Pietro clenches his fists in an attempt to hold still.

“What’s your mission?” Steve asks from behind Bucky, shield still in place.

Pietro makes eye-contact with Bucky, who stares back fiercely, unapologetic for firing on him. The silver-haired man doesn’t really look bothered, anyway.

“We –” he starts, only to bite his tongue and start vibrating again.

“We can keep your sister safe,” Natasha tells him calmly, playing on his obvious need to protect the woman named Wanda. “If you cooperate with us, we can keep her away from HYDRA.”

Pietro stands, hunched, surrounded by the Avengers, his targets. He looks considering, eyes focused on his knocked-out sibling. They stay there as he whispers, “They took us,” in a hoarse voice. “We went to sleep and when we woke up, we could do things, strange things. I… I was afraid, but Wanda –” His expression turns almost pained. “She was getting better. I don’t know anymore.” He tears his gaze away from Wanda long enough to glance at Steve. “They showed us footage and let us go with instructions. Take out the faces we were shown and report back.”

“Who was your handler?” Natasha asks. Bucky pays close attention.

Pietro shakes his head. “I don’t know. They didn’t give us any names, they just…”

“Strucker,” a soft, wavering voice says. All eyes dart over to the woman over Iron Man’s shoulder. “I heard. They called him Strucker.”

Bucky sees the look Natasha and Steve share.

__________________________________________

Kidnapping two magical HYDRA agents isn’t the smartest idea, Bucky thinks, though Steve insists it’s not kidnapping if they go “willingly.” But they do follow without much struggle, so what other options do they have?

Tony jokes about the Avengers becoming a home for wayward HYDRA creations. Steve gives Tony a nasty look as a reply.

Natasha leads them to a rendezvous point where they meet with Agent Hill, who then leads them to an underground bunker. Coulson’s there and is accompanied by a very serious looking woman.

“Wanda, Pietro,” he greets with a pleasant looking demeanor. “I’m Phil Coulson. This is Melinda May. We’re here to help. Come with us, please.”

As soon as the two are led away, (followed by Natasha, Barton, and Stark), Steve grips Bucky’s arm and pulls him to the side, using a quiet voice.

“You think this is HYDRA’s plan? They seem to have an affinity for infiltration.”

Bucky scrubs at his chin and shrugs, squinting in thought. “Bound to be trackers somewhere, probably under their skin.”

“Good thing we have disrupters.” They both turn to see Agent Hill coming their way, a small, tired smile on her face. And then, with clear sarcasm, she says, “Courtesy of Stark Industries, of course,” as if Tony would pop his head through the door at any moment.

“They’ll know the general vicinity,” Steve concludes. “Be ready, and be careful.”

Hill huffs. “As we can be. And you be careful too, Captain. Wherever it is you’re going, you’ll need to watch your back more than ever.”

“Yeah, and where are we going, exactly?” Sam asks as he steps forward, too.

Steve sighs and Bucky knows that resolute look in those blue eyes means nothing good.

__________________________________________

They’re tired and ragged from days on foot, doing nothing but reconnaissance. Fury’s been in constant contact with Natasha, who sends coordinates and an occasional message to Steve, complete with appropriate emoticons (Sam calls them that, but all Bucky sees are colons and letters or parenthesis).

They traipse through HYDRA bases every other night, looking for information during daylight hours, stopping at a different motel to sleep when they need it. They pay for only one room so as not to arouse outside suspicion. Sam offers to take turns between the two beds and the couch, even brings up asking for a cot or buying a sleeping bag. Bucky says nothing and Steve says he doesn’t mind sharing, though Sam must hear _sharing with Bucky_ because he doesn’t make a move to slip in beside either of them.

Sam buys beer after a bad scrape one night and drinks with his meal, eyes on the small TV.

He doesn’t ask Steve if he wants one, just lets him take it because he can’t get drunk anyway, but he does ask Bucky, who accepts. They drink nearly the whole pack between the two of them (Steve only sips at one), and Sam is resignedly amused at the fact that he’s the only one slightly drunk.

“Man, what _is_ my life.”

Bucky wakes up sweating from the combination of a nightmare and a too-warm body pressed against his back. He scrambles up and out of bed on instinct, bolting for the door, but then he pauses with his metal hand on the doorknob. He takes a moment to just breathe, trying to clear his mind of the myriad of pained screams.

Sam’s not a heavy sleeper but Bucky’s light on his feet when he wants to be; he’d only made enough noise to wake Steve.

“Can I do anything?”

Bucky shakes his head, not quite sure Steve can see the movement in the dark. So he creeps back to the bed slowly, body tense, and slides down onto the sheets. Steve never asks why he doesn’t sleep under them, probably already knows. He’s glad he doesn’t have to explain.

He doesn’t go back to sleep right away, but he does manage to get a couple more hours in before they’re on they’re way.

They’re ambushed when they hit a small city near Germany. There are several goons being led by a man in a skull mask whose attention seems to be solely on Steve. Bucky sees the tazers in his hands, the swords sheathed to his back and the guns holstered to his belt. He’s not as good a fighter as Steve, but he moves like he knows what’s to come, like they’ve fought before.

Bucky pulls a knife from his boot when he flips, kicking one of them hard enough to knock him out cold. He throws it with fierce precision, but the man in the skull mask moves to block a punch from Steve at that same moment, causing the blade to lodge into his shoulder instead of his neck. The man laughs when he pulls it out and something about the sound touches Bucky’s mind in a bad way.

He launches himself at the man, swiping his metal forearm against the back of his head. It knocks him down with a grunt and a dark laugh, but he gets back up, so Bucky shoots. One, two, three – right into a bulletproof vest. He shoots again, aiming for a thigh. He tazes Bucky then gets thrown down hard in retaliation.

Bucky pulls another knife and slashes it against the skull-covered face, slicing the fabric, and for a split-second he sees severely burned flesh. And then Steve’s shield goes flying, knocking him down again, and when he gets up this time it’s to flee. Bucky watches Sam fly away to give chase, coming back nearly ten minutes later with clear frustration at having lost him.

“Have any idea who that was?” Sam asks, though they all know the answer: they have no clue.

Steve lets everyone else know to look out for a man in a skull mask and, on Bucky’s word, a possible burned face.

They stay in a wooded area instead of a motel that night. Bucky’s mind swarms with pictures of hidden campsites, fires that couldn’t stay for long or they’d risk being found by their enemies. Dugan and that stupid hat, telling boisterous stories about his family, pining for the nearest bar; Jones and his book summaries, the debates that Bucky could participate in because he was more than just street smart; Steve and his reserved smiles, his eyes roaming the distance or Bucky’s face or that picture in his compass.

Bucky saw that picture far too often for his liking.

It’s at the museum now, with nearly everything else they’d ever owned. He doesn’t even know if he wants the stuff or if he’d rather just forget about it all.

“I miss DC,” Sam says quietly during the night when none of them have fallen asleep yet. “I miss my house.”

“You can go back, Sam,” Steve tells him. “You deserve a break.”

“So do you. But I can tough it, Steve, trust me. Might need a vacation after this, though.”

Steve hums, absently wiping his thumb over his black phone screen. “Where to?”

“I dunno. Maybe California. What about you guys? Any plans for a break? Better say yes or I’ll be hounding your asses for weeks.”

Steve laughs at that and Bucky smiles slightly, staring down at the dirt beneath him with his hair curtaining his face. “What’d you say, Buck? Wanna hit the road when this is over?”

Bucky knows Steve’s only being facetious, knows that the things they’re doing won’t ever be over, but there’s something in his tone – whimsy, maybe hope – that makes Bucky wish for it, too.

“What, like a road trip?” Sam inquires, amused.

Bucky gives a soft laugh. “We’re already doing that.”

“Nah,” Sam interjects. “Road trips are s’posed to be fun. Unless you think beatin’ up a bunch of Nazi wannabes is fun – hell, what am I sayin’? Course you do.”

__________________________________________

“Wanda’s got a lock on Lukin,” Natasha says over the com as they’re checking the perimeter of a HYDRA weapons cache.

“You trust her?” Steve questions. He uses his shield to bust open the armory inside a small underground bunker. Bucky uses his metal fist to smash the tech to pieces.

“We don’t have many options, Steve. And anyway, at least you boys can follow directions. Lukin’s not too far from your location.”

“What about Strucker?” Bucky cuts in.

There’s a pause. “She can’t feel his mental waves. Apparently he’s got a special doctor friend who’s good with minds. Got Strucker off the telepathic grid.”

“I don’t know how Asgard works, but I’m gonna guess Thor’s buddy won’t be able to find him either.”

Natasha hums. “Good thinking. We’ll double-check, just to be safe. In the meantime, I’ll send the coordinates.” There’s another pause. “Be careful, alright? I don’t think Wanda’s playing us, but HYDRA’s smarter than we gave them credit for.”

“We’ll be fine,” Sam replies assuredly, always the beacon of hope and reason.

Bucky gives a tired sigh and leads the way back out, anxious to get it over with already. He realizes that he’s restless. He wanted a mission but now that he has one it’s like… he just wants to go back to Stark’s safe house and – and do anything else. Maybe he just needs a better reason to fight, something more than revenge he doesn’t really even care about anymore. He’s angry about what they did to him, of course he is; they took his identity, his choices, his _life_. But killing all of HYDRA won’t change that and it won’t reverse time.

Bucky entertains the thought of taking that vacation with Steve, of it actually being possible, and how absurd and exciting the idea is. He’ll have to bring it up, maybe after they find Lukin. The determination is something he needs.

The three head out as soon as they get to coordinates, not wanting to waste any time. They’re very careful, but things turn south fairly quickly. It’s a trap. Lukin’s there, alright, but he’s waiting and ready.

He’s tall and lean, far younger than he should be even with the graying hair and beard, and he moves through his horde of men with ease. “The Captain,” he starts with a curl of his lips, “his new sidekick, and… our asset.” A smile spreads wider across his face. “I must say, I’m very pleased our twins did not kill you. Now I have the pleasure of welcoming you home.”

Steve nearly lurches forward, but Sam’s hand, though not able to hold him back, is a meaningful weight that keeps him in place.

Lukin’s cold eyes stray to Steve. “You’ve been quite the problem, but I do believe we have a solution.”

“You gonna monologue it?” Sam spits out bravely.

Lukin chuckles, looking as if they’re all old friends. “Perhaps, in good time… though actions _do_ speak louder than words. Now, let us bring balance back to the world.” Lukin’s attention is solely on Bucky. “Winter Soldier, will you come quietly?”

“Never,” he answers, instant and true, and Lukin sighs dramatically.

“Двигатель не заводится.”

Bucky knows those words – and not just because they make up a simple, insignificant sentence. He _knows_ them, like they’re part of him, or like they were.

A wave of pain washes through his mind, only it feels distant, weak. He winces, needs to think fast.

_Words. Phrase. Pain. Trigger phrase? Subduing?_

_They seem to have an affinity for infiltration._

_Freeze. Play it out. Get inside._

Bucky lets his body go slack and his face go as utterly blank as he can, straightening into a soldier’s stance without the salute. He stares ahead, unmoving, unblinking, barely even breathing. Through his peripheral, he sees Steve’s panic. It’s hard not to react.

“What’d you do to him?” Steve demands as he reaches out to grip Bucky’s shoulders without restraint. It takes everything not to flinch when HYDRA agents reinforce their hold on their weapons.

“What’d he say?” Sam asks Steve.

“I don’t know. Something about an engine? Bucky? Bucky, are you with me?”

Bucky has to stare at Lukin’s smug expression and it makes him sick.

“Soldier –” Lukin begins to demand, but Steve cuts him off, sounding desperate and resigned.

“Lukin, let him go.” When he gets no response, he tries again, angrily. “How would Karpov feel knowing you defected? I thought he trained you better than this.”

Bucky wants to smirk at the game Steve’s playing. He manages to control himself.

Lukin grins like a feral shark. “This is an age of miracles and my beloved friend would not understand. We have a necessary alliance, but… the Soldier belongs to me, not HYDRA. Luckily, my German associate has plans I can agree with. Now – Soldier, we have work to do. Follow.”

Bucky walks forward, trying to recall the calm ease at which he had moved as the Soldier. It isn’t too different from his usual gait, but he knows Lukin believes him to be in some sort of control mode, so he stays stiff and blank as he goes.

“Bucky,” Steve calls. “ _Bucky!_ ”

It’s so hard to walk away from Steve; he nearly falters in his steps and is glad Lukin chooses not to look back or else his pained face would give the whole thing away.

Bucky knows Sam and Steve can get out of this. He has faith. Now he just has to focus on his part.

“We’ll get him back,” he hears Sam say from behind. “We _will_ , Steve.”

__________________________________________

Lukin leads Bucky deeper through the facility, far underground, and into an office-like room. There’s a large wooden desk inside with an antique chair behind it, bookshelves and couches and a very advanced computer system in one corner. A handful of agents stand watch inside and outside of the room.

“By the door,” he instructs the Soldier, gesturing towards the two guards nearby. He takes a spot between them.

Lukin clears his throat and moves towards his tech. Bucky observes the buttons he pushes on the computer system. A face appears before a voice cuts in.

“This must be important.”

Lukin nods. “The Winter Soldier is back in my care. I’m just about to start the reprogramming…”

“And I assume you have the Captain?”

The accent is clearly German.

“Yes,” Lukin says.

“You won’t for long. But that is not your concern. I will send Doctor Faustus to oversee your reprogramming efforts. He has proven useful, as of late.”

Bucky pays close attention to the areas he’s led through, trying not to panic when they stop inside of a lab. He’s told to sit on the chair, near the tray of nauseating tools.

Static in his ear starts up. The signal to the coms is nearly down, but Bucky can still barely make out a few things: _situa – New Yo – now._ Bucky wonders if Steve and Sam have a better signal.

He can hear Steve trying to call his name, too. He can’t respond.

__________________________________________

Bucky pretends to be under control for what must be nearly 3 hours as Lukin waits for Doctor Faustus. He watches the way the guards move, listening to the murmurings of a conversation someone’s having mere feet outside of the lab.

He has to dispatch the guards without alerting Lukin.

Getting into the Soldier’s mindset isn’t hard, but it’s draining.

__________________________________________

It takes 5 minutes for his hands get stained with even more blood.

It takes 7 minutes for Lukin to reenter the room.

It’d take another minute to sound an alarm. The Winter Soldier doesn’t even give him 30 seconds.

__________________________________________

By the time Bucky makes it outside, shaking and wide-eyed and nearly out of his wits, the base is in chaos anyway.

There are dents in walls that could only come from Steve’s shield. Most of the men are beaten down instead of shot.

Steve and Sam are gone. He doesn’t want to think that they left him, but…

__________________________________________

Trying to escape a base full of HYDRA agents without an arsenal is tough. He evades them without many problems until a bullet gets embedded into his side, slowing him down. Then there’s a group on him, slashing his skin and yanking his hair so hard that a clump must get torn out.

He kills as many as he needs just to be able to escape into the woods.

It’s a chase then. Bucky’s blood is coming out too fast and he can’t pause to stop it, so he keeps on, grits his teeth through the pain and the dizziness.

The trees blend together as he runs and there’s nothing graceful about his movements anymore. Every twitch is tinged with desperation, every sucked in breath accompanied with a thought that it may be his last. He should’ve known Lukin would have an army at his base. It was stupid of them to go it as they were.

His stumbling over overgrown roots pulls a strangled cry from his lips.

 _Signal for Sergeant Barnes is found_ , JARVIS says in his ear. _Connecting_.

“Bucky? Tell me you’re still you. _Please –_ ”

“Steve –”

A rush of breathy relief cuts through his com. “We had to get outta there, we –”

“S’okay,” he grunts out, turning just long enough to shoot at a jeep revving up behind him.

“No, it’s – just get to the rendezvous point. We’ve got a jet – we have to go _now_.”

Bucky doesn’t like to think it, but he knows he only gets out of the woods alive because of JARVIS. He tells himself to thank Stark later.

The jet’s in the air and there’s a ladder dangling down for him. He can see Steve hanging over the edge, holding his hand out for Bucky to grab. He barely touches his flesh fingertips against Steve’s before the blackness around his vision engulfs him.

__________________________________________

“A robot called Ultron’s tryin’ to take over New York and you’re willing to sit it out?”

“I’ve given my life more than once for the greater good. I can’t give up Bucky’s. Not again.”

“You don’t have to, Steve. He’s gonna be fine –”

Bucky groans. It’s only when he tries to shift that he realizes his head is being cradled in Steve’s lap. “Save the dramatics,” he nearly slurs; he must’ve been injected with painkillers, if the feeling of numbness is anything to go by. “Just… go do what you do. M’fine.”

What he wants to say is _Please stay, Steve_. He’s selfish enough to do it, just not so brave.

He falls asleep with Steve’s fingers raking gently through his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unconsolable // x ambassadors
> 
> I can't really think of anything to say right now... except I need to start writing more and fast because I only have a few prewritten chapters left. 
> 
> We're getting into more plot so I hope you're all still enjoying it. As always, thanks so much for the comments and the support. <3


	17. so call it quits or get a grip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky follows Steve deeper into the cemetery, breathing in the smell of the earth. Steve tells him seeing your own grave can be pretty surreal. It is, Bucky supposes, but no more so than a memorial in a museum.
> 
> The spot is covered in dead grass and weeds, is marked with a cracked, fading headstone over 70 years old. There’s no body 6 feet under, probably no coffin, just a place marked for a family to grieve over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wherever we go, we'll never be lost  
> Some follow the compass or some follow the cross  
> Me, I follow roads compulsively 'til sirens call me off  
> Then I wander, eyes closed, following songs  
> River's a hymnal and the leaves are applause  
> Trees singing whispers with the wind pulling their arms  
> Hold still, and listen, your hand on my heart  
> If you need them these beacons will lead you back to the start"

Bucky was a mischievous boy with a predilection for getting into trouble. He remembers his father saying it was because there were too many women in the house and, therefore, no way for a little boy to get his energy out. He roughhoused with the other boys once he got into school but hadn’t taken to making any friends right away.

At 4 years old, Bucky made it his mission to get into whatever he could reach or climb to.

At 5 years old, Bucky would slip his hand out of his mother’s and roam the streets, pretending to be an orphan boy in hopes of getting a free peach from the old man on the corner.

At 6 years old, he made a little fist and jammed it into a second grader’s nose. He learned how much he hated being forced to stand facing the wall for what felt like an eternity.

At 6 years old, he met sickly little Steve Rogers, who would become his best friend for life (and they would live very long lives, it turned out).

Bucky grew more subdued when Steve was around, like he had found something he didn’t even know was missing. They’d sit with their heads pressed together, pointing and laughing at the books they were learning to read, and Bucky loved reading even more than Steve, who had taken to drawing everything his poor eyes could see clearly. By the time Bucky was 10, he was working his way through science fiction novels from the local library and trading anything his parents allow just to get some old comics, which he’d end up giving to Steve after a few reads because the smaller boy was fascinated by the art.

They spent nearly all of their time together as young boys, always outside or at each other’s homes. Bucky liked Mrs. Rogers a whole lot and was sad for her, having to raise a child as feisty and delicate as Steve without anyone to help her. He told her this one day, making her laugh sweetly. “You’re a good friend to my boy, Bucky,” she’d said. “That’s all the help I need.” And it was, really, since Mrs. Rogers worked a lot and Bucky was the only company Steve enjoyed (their neighbor, Mrs. Flannery, was no fun at all).

When Steve would go over to Bucky’s, they’d put the couch cushions on the floor of the living room and talk for hours, making up fantastical stories or imagining futures where nothing could ever go wrong and they’d be best friends forever.

They bonded over their differences more than their similarities. Just looking at the two, with Bucky being the bigger and more boisterous kid while Steve was small and came off as innocent because of his high moral standards, people would think the former was the trouble starter. It wasn’t that way _at all._ Bucky, though he liked going out dancing and drinking, used violence to _stop_ the fights, throwing himself in to protect Steve (and if he punched a little too hard, well…). He had a temper, especially when it came to idiots beating up on Steve, even if the little punk didn’t know how to hold his tongue, but Steve’s temper was worse and only started fading when his mother died, being replaced with numbness.

Bucky was 13 when he had his first kiss, 15 when he went steady with a girl. Steve was interested in girls, too, in his own restrained way, but no girls paid him any mind. Still, it was Steve he preferred spending time with, Steve he went home to after deciding to move in together.

There was so much history between them and so much more to be added, and Bucky –

He opens his eyes and blinks blearily several times, his first thought being about where his sudden blast from the past came from. And then he remembers the ambush, remembers killing Lukin and fleeing, getting banged up in the process, Steve and Sam and a jet, warm fingers threading through his hair…

Bucky tries to pull himself up, tensing from the pain coursing through his body but pushing through anyway. The first thing he notices is that he’s not alone in the room.

“Welcome back,” Natasha intones from a chair beside his bed. Her legs are pulled up to her chest comfortably and she’s got her cellphone in hand. Before he can ask, she continues, “You’ve been out for 28 hours.”

He makes a face. “I wasn’t hurt that bad.”

Her eyebrow shoots up challengingly. “You lost a lot of blood, but we also gave you an excessive amount of morphine, _so_.” Her lips twitch into a small smile.

He hums lazily and allows himself to drop back down, blowing a strand of hair away from his face. It only takes him a few more seconds to remember the conversation on the jet. “Ultron?”

“Neutralized.”

“And Steve?”

“Near mint condition.”

He turns enough to stare at Natasha, one eye still closed. “What happened?”

She tells him about some robot overlord named Ultron, a project started by Stark and Pym in hopes of it being an alternative to all of the Iron Man suits Tony had blown up. It became corrupted somewhere along the way and escaped when someone named Lang activated it. Ultron then went on to create something called Vision; Bucky recognizes the description as the android man he encountered in the subway station.

“He’s a lot like JARVIS,” Natasha explains. “Changed sides halfway through. Tony’s thrilled.”

Bucky wishes he didn’t know how he got to this point.

“Well,” he sighs, attempting to sit up again so he can stand. “I’ve wasted enough time lying around –”

Natasha’s firm hand on his shoulder makes him stop. She looks down at him, serious and concerned. “Steve mentioned something that happened between you and Lukin. A trigger phrase? How’d you get out of that mess?”

Bucky licks his lips. “Двигатель не заводится,” he tells her. “I think it used to be a way to control me.”

She tilts her head. “Used to be?”

“Must’ve been washed out by that cube.”

“So… you’re saying you played Lukin?” She sounds slightly impressed.

He frowns. “And Steve.”

“It had to be done. And I’m sure he’ll be glad to know Lukin didn’t have any control over you.” Bucky shrugs. Natasha moves to sit back down in the chair, grabbing for the phone she set away even though her attention is still on Bucky. “So where’s Lukin now? Wanda can’t get a read on him.”

Bucky thinks Natasha already knows.

“Let’s focus on Strucker – and some guy called Doctor Faustus. He’ll be a problem.”

Natasha regards him for a moment and then nods. Bucky stands himself up and stretches, watching her tinker with her cellphone. There’s a knock on the door not even 5 minutes later and then in comes Steve, with his wide eyes and hopeful smile, and Bucky feels that stupid warmth rush through his body again.

“Glad you’re okay, Bucky.” He says it like he’s never had before, like it’s something new. It’s a little endearing.

But then Steve glances towards Natasha, who stares back curiously, trying to read what Steve’s conveying. Bucky can tell she can’t this time. But she stands anyway and moves to leave, brushing her hand over Steve’s arm gently as she goes.

“New costume,” Bucky observes, for lack of anything to say. He doesn’t know when he started feeling like he had to make small talk. “S’not bad.”

Steve looks down at himself as if he’d forgotten what he was wearing. After so long in spangly suits, Bucky supposes it becomes forgettable. 

“Gotta hand it to Stark, it’s a good one.” Bucky hums at that, moving to pop his back, eyeing the way Steve clenches his hands. He sighs. “You were still out cold after the fight and, I don’t know, I guess everything that’s happened lately got me thinking…”

Steve grunts in frustration and moves his fingers to sweep at his hair. He steps forward, towards the chair Natasha had been occupying, but doesn’t sit. Bucky has more patience than usual, probably because his friend is looking unusually twitchy.

“There’s this _thing_ ,” he says, “between you and me.” And something in Bucky just clicks, makes him freeze, eyes never wavering from Steve in fear that, if he looks away, he might find out he’s been in cryo the whole time.

There _is_ a thing, he thinks; there has been for a while now, if the feelings that course through his body when he’s around Steve are anything to go by. He just never thought of it, never _knew_ to think of it, never understood until Steve brought it up. How could he know those kinds of feelings if he could never remember having them? But he does now, because of the cube, and it’s a vague assumption, sure, but there are few things he’s positive of and having… _feelings_ for Steve might be one of them.

“There’s a wall between us,” Steve continues, oblivious to Bucky’s inner struggle, and – wait, what? “That’s what Sam would say. I think?”

Bucky’s always been good at schooling his expression (usually, at least). He hopes he’s doing it now.

“I know it won’t be like it used to, I don’t want it to be, and we’ve been over that enough, but I think… what I mean is, I realized I’m holding us back.”

“I…” Bucky starts, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s far too confused and the fact that he misjudged the situation makes something heavy settle inside his chest.

Steve nods like he understands Bucky’s dilemma even though he has absolutely no clue.

“When I thought… you died, there wasn’t time to mourn.” He licks his lips. “I crashed the plane, woke up, and then I realized I didn’t want to mourn because if I did then it’d be real when part of me still felt like it was all a dream. And I got to thinking that, with you being here, _now_ , maybe it’s the right time.”

“To mourn me?” Bucky asks, needing confirmation because this wasn’t what he had been thinking at all and now he feels incredibly stupid. It’s not the first time he’s been glad that Steve can’t read minds.

Steve looks a little sad and a little sheepish. “No,” he breathes, laughing humorlessly. Bucky thinks it sounds more like a yes. “I feel like an ass. You’re standing right here and I’m talking like you’re still gone. You’ll never know how glad I am to have you back –”

“But,” Bucky adds, because he knows it’s coming. Steve casts his eyes downward. He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, feeling far more tired than he should after having slept for more than a day.

 “But we – well, _I_ need to get over the past.” Bucky watches him finally plop down into the chair. “I have dreams,” he continues quietly. “It’s no secret, but I guess I avoid talking about it. And when I wake up sometimes, maybe for a second, I think I’m waking up to take my turn on watch. And if it’s a really bad night, I wake up thinking about how we’re gonna eat for the rest of the week when we barely scraped together enough for rent.”

Bucky wonders if Sam tried to help Steve the way he tried to help him. He wonders if he’s still trying.

Bucky stays quiet, lets Steve go on because it’s obvious that he needs this, needs the closure he never really got. Neither of them did.

“Think we could lay everything out. You know – put it to rest and start over?”

Bucky sighs and sits himself down on the edge of the bed. Steve makes it sound so easy. He also makes it sound like this is the best thing they could do. Bucky can’t really understand how forgetting the past he tried so hard to recollect might help, but Steve thinks it will and he can’t deny him anything, never really could.

“So, what? You wanna go set some flowers on my grave? We can sit down and cry together if that’s what you want.”

Steve makes an irritated noise and looks away, but settles himself deeper into the chair. He’s not going anywhere for a while. “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

Bucky can’t stop the quirk of his lips. “I’ve heard it before.”

Steve’s eyes dart back over to land on him and then his lips quirk, too. It’s gone within seconds.

“What d’you wanna do then, Steve?”

“Just talk,” Steve tells him. “Sam says I’ve gotta do that more.”

“Okay. So shoot.”

Steve nods, steeling himself before asking, “Do you have any regrets?”

Bucky shrugs. “I’d have to think about it.”

“Well –” Steve chuckles self-deprecatingly, “I think about it a lot.”

Bucky can probably guess Steve’s regrets; not saving him from the train, not getting his future with Peggy, not being able to rid the world of Hydra – or at least stop Zola from infiltrating SHIELD.

“I know you can probably guess,” Steve says, as if he _can_ read Bucky’s mind.

“I told you, what happened to me s’not your fault, Steve. And you’ve been taking out HYDRA bases like a madman. So that just leaves Peggy… not much you can do about that. Sorry, pal.”

Steve rolls his shoulders and smiles a little sadly. “She found a good fella, had a nice life. I’m happy for that. We loved each other, but…” He scratches his head. “I think sometimes there’s more than one person out there. It was like that for me and her.”

Bucky tries to keep his face neutral, though he allows his brows to furrow in confusion. “You had someone ‘sides Peggy?” He tries not to sound hurt when he says, “I never knew that.”

Steve pauses to stare for a while, the look on his face hard to decipher. Even so, it makes Bucky’s breath catch. And then, almost shyly, Steve drops his gaze.

 “No, guess I didn’t.”

“So, you wanna get over the person you say you _didn’t_ have?”

“No, I – that’s not the point.”

“It should be, if you’re so hung up on it,” Bucky tells him stubbornly.

Steve’s eyes narrow slightly when he looks up again. “Bucky –”

“I thought we were laying everything out.”

“Bucky, drop it,” Steve tells him, and there’s some Captain in his voice now. Bucky’s face twitches with the memory of Steve demanding he drop that chip on the helicarrier.

Bucky uses his metal hand to wipe at his nose (he’s been doing stuff like that, trying to make it feel more human). “When I think of regrets,” he starts slowly, “I think of something you could’ve changed if you just chose differently. So… falling? I don’t regret it. I was trying to protect you and that’s something I wouldn’t change. What HYDRA did to me?” His voice cracks when he admits, out loud for the first time, “That’s not my fault. I couldn’t change it – and you know what? I wouldn’t.”

Bucky doesn’t try to deter the tears prickling at his eyes, doesn’t look away from Steve’s heavy gaze. He’s crying and Steve’s about to start and maybe it’s okay.

“If I’d ended up –” He pauses to take a shaky breath. “If it’d happened differently, I wouldn’t be here with you right now. And Steve, you’re stronger than me ‘cause I couldn’t – if I had to live with losing you, I wouldn’t’ve been okay.”

Steve doesn’t say a word when he gets up, striding swiftly over to sit on the bed near Bucky. He wraps his arms around his friend and pulls him close so they can hold on to each other.

Gripping Steve’s shirt tightly with both hands, he clears his throat, keeping his head against a broad shoulder. “I have irrational regrets, y’know, things I feel guilty about when I couldn’t do anything to change them. Nearly killing you on that helicarrier, letting them take you from me in the first place… what they turned you into.” Bucky lets Steve pull back enough to stare down at his face. “We were puppets. I was a monster and you were –”

“A dancing monkey,” Steve breathes.

Bucky smiles mirthlessly. “A ghost and the face of America. Doing bad things is easy, but doing the right thing? Having to make the right call, all the time?” He shakes his head. “So maybe I don’t always like what they made you, ‘cause when you didn’t have this body… I could protect you. Things were simple. I let myself think they’d stay that way.” He huffs.  “Maybe _that’s_ what I regret.”

_And right now I regret feeling, because it’s all for you._

Steve blinks, lets his eyes stay closed for a few seconds in a way that makes Bucky think he might fall asleep.

“Buck,” he exhales. Bucky’s stupid body gets the chills. “What do you wanna do?”

Bucky stares at the wall, letting thoughts race through his head as he considers Steve’s question. What does he want to do? There was a time, not very long ago, that he just wanted to be Bucky Barnes again. But now that he is, he wants to live his own life instead of trying to chase a shadow from decades past. He wants to be _himself_ , the new version; wants to make decisions without worrying about whether or not he would’ve done the same thing before the war, wants to say things without holding back, wants to live – _really live_ – because he can’t truly remember what that feels like, even though he’s got his memories, and because he’s got a taste of this new life and it’s not so bad.

He wants to touch Steve in ways he probably shouldn’t even be thinking about and it scares him.

And Bucky wants to be able to tell Steve these things. He’s not sure he should.

“I don’t know,” he decides to say, not entirely dishonest. “What about you, Steve? Gonna save the world for the rest of your life?”

Steve looks so tired lately. “It’s all I know how to do. And I haven’t completely screwed up. Yet.”

Bucky’s laugh is a little watery, but it’s real. It makes Steve laugh, too – all crinkled-eyed with a scrunched up nose, white teeth practically shining. Maybe it’s like staring into the sun. You’ll go blind, but you just can’t look away.

He thinks… he’s already been blinded by Steve.

__________________________________________

They end up visiting a cemetery in Brooklyn. Steve leads the way, knows exactly where to go like he’s been here a thousand times before. Steve admits, guiltily, that he hasn’t visited for a while.

Bucky’s mind buzzes with thoughts and distant memories when they stop in front of the headstone of Sarah Rogers, next to one belonging to Joseph Rogers.

When Bucky asks, Steve tells him that the last time he visited his mother’s grave was after he met Erskine, before he shipped out.

They stand there for close to 20 minutes, Bucky a few feet away from Steve, eyes darting between Sarah’s grave and Steve’s solemn face. Bucky wonders – not for the first time, he’s sure – if Steve was scared before going into that pod, not entirely sure how he’d come out or if he’d come out at all. The serum saved his life, of course. Bucky knows that. How many doctors had given Steve different timeframes? He’ll die within a month, before he’s 10, by the time he’s 13, 18 is going to be his last birthday, it’s a miracle he’s 21. Steve had defied the odds countless times – had defied reality and fate and death. In a way, Bucky had, too.

Bucky thinks about how there are graves for his parents somewhere and wonders what they say, how they died and when.

“We could look into it,” Steve tells him assuredly when Bucky asks, but he declines. He remembers his mother’s pretty face and his father’s boisterous laugh, the way his sisters made him want to spend as much time out of the house as he could. He remembers, but he doesn’t really feel any of it. He doesn’t really want to now.

Bucky follows Steve deeper into the cemetery, breathing in the smell of the earth. Steve tells him seeing your own grave can be pretty surreal. It is, Bucky supposes, but no more so than a memorial in a museum.

The spot is covered in dead grass and weeds, is marked with a cracked, fading headstone over 70 years old. There’s no body 6 feet under, probably no coffin, just a place marked for a family to grieve over.

_James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes_

_1917-1945_

_Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. John 15:13_

Bucky lets out a breath and presses his thumb against his mouth. It’s as if he’s mourning himself, who he used to be, and then he realizes that yeah, that’s exactly what he’s doing. Maybe he understands what Steve meant after all.

__________________________________________

They don’t go back to Stark’s place right away, choosing instead to walk around the streets of Brooklyn that are strange and familiar at the same time.

He watches small children draw on sidewalks and bounce balls back and forth. Some are shooting each other with plastic guns, harmless bullets or water firing out. It’s cloudy and warm and it might even rain.

There are older children, walking in groups with cellphones in hand, laughing loudly and shoving at each other. There are men and women in business suits, in sweatpants and t-shirts. Some people have strange hair colors or jewelry pierced through skin or ink peeking through sleeves. He notices the way people move, how different everyone is, studies them out of curiosity rather than for information.

And Steve is by his side, speaking lowly, stupid knitted cap pulled over his head and hands tucked inside his pockets. It feels like a dream.

“Stark was a real help with Ultron out there,” he’s saying. “Things’ve changed since I first met him. He’s… well, he’s not so bad once you get to know him. Or, I guess, once he _lets_ you get to know him. He mentioned wanting to fix up the tower again, which got me thinking about finding a place for us to stay.” He glances sideways at Bucky, who stares ahead with squinted eyes. “I still have that apartment in DC. We can patch up the bullet holes.” Steve changes his mind when Bucky looks down, uncomfortable at the mention of the place the Soldier attacked. “Probably not so safe there. Uh, I’m sure there are a ton of places we could look at. Would you rather stay in New York?”

Bucky rubs at his face in thought. It seems as if Steve wants to go back to DC, but it’s a vague assumption. Maybe he’d rather stay in New York, close to Stark and his other Avenger friends?

Bucky starts pulling his hair back as he asks, “Where do you wanna go?”

Predictably, Steve shrugs. “I liked DC, but the press is still going wild. We could leave New York, you know? But –” Bucky shakes his head and Steve gives him a small, crooked smile. “Yeah. Okay, so, do you maybe wanna get a place by yourself?”

It’s said tentatively, but Bucky can’t help getting a bit defensive. Does Steve not want to live with him anymore? Is he tired of the nightmares, of the odd habits? Is he sick of the clinging some days and the distance others, or the fact that Bucky’s been acting a little strange lately? Maybe he’s realizing that trying to start over is too painful when their past is so expansive and meaningful.

Calming himself with a deep breath, he says, as noncommittal as he can, “If you want some space, I can get by on my own.”

Steve stops very abruptly then, an arm shooting out so long fingers can grip Bucky’s sleeve so tightly it nearly rips. It’s only then that he realizes exactly what he’s said, the words he chose to use. It was probably subconscious. He can’t even be sure.

But Steve is looking at him strangely and Bucky can’t understand it, not when Steve knows he remembers things now, even if not fully all the time. Bucky figures he probably sees something in his expression.

Steve looks as if he’s about to say something, but it gets cut off by his laugh, soft and familiar. It feels as if nothing’s changed.

“I’ve missed having a normal roommate.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I’m your idea of normal?”

“Compared to the company I’ve been keeping lately? Yeah, Buck. You’re pretty damn normal.”

Bucky stares at Steve, barely aware of the smile on his face. Steve stares right back. It reminds him of a bar full of loud men and piano notes, golden lamp-lights barely illuminating the silhouettes in the darkness. He remembers staring at Steve then, amber liquid washing down his throat wish ease, making him feel nothing but distress. He’d follow Steve to certain death (‘til the end of the line), he’d said so, and they’d shared a look more meaningful than he could process at the time. He could now, could look for something he knows wouldn’t be there, just because he _wants_ to.

There was no one as perfect for Steve as Peggy and she’s not a viable option anymore, so maybe –

“You might be a little crazy, Steve,” he says, because he should say _something_. Steve’s eyes flicker down for a brief moment, his full lips still quirked, and when he looks back up his gaze is warm enough to seize Bucky’s breath.

“Honestly? I think we all are.”

Bucky thinks he’s right.

__________________________________________

When they get back, Natasha’s waiting for them, but in a far more casual manner than anyone would expect. She’s sitting on the couch in the room just off the foyer, watching TV beside Clint and, apparently, “hogging all the popcorn.” She gives them an appraising look when they pass by, restraining herself from following for all of 5 minutes. Bucky finds her as suspicious as she suddenly finds him.

“Sharon called,” she tells them once she catches them in the hallway leading to the room they’ve been sharing. She smirks at Steve. “Not too late for that date.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches on instinct.

Steve all but rolls his eyes. “How’s the CIA treating her?”

“She seems to like it just fine. She might also have some information we could use, about Strucker and Faustus.”

Bucky makes a noise that Natasha narrows her eyes at. “The CIA just happens to have information we’re looking for.”

“Sharon’s a former SHIELD agent,” she explains. It means nothing to him, not now that he can recall the SHIELD infiltrators he’d come in contact with.

“Jasper Sitwell, Brock Rumlow, Alexander Pierce, Grant Ward –”

“She’s active against HYDRA and in contact with Coulson,” Natasha interrupts. “It wouldn’t hurt to at least look at the intel she gave us. Possible location on Strucker.” She turns away, presumably to head back to Barton. But before she rounds the corner she glances back at them. “Oh, and something about an army of mind-controlled soldiers?”

“She doesn’t sound too concerned,” Steve notes dryly, once she disappears. There’s a crease between his eyebrows.

“She’s trying to get you interested,” Bucky remarks, eyes roaming over his friend’s body a bit unnecessarily. “It’s working.”

Steve looks pensive as he calls to JARVIS, asking for Tony. He’s in his lab, of course, and that’s where Steve’s headed. Bucky doesn’t follow, so he heads to his room, pausing in the doorway when he spots a bag on the bed. There’s a note from Sam amongst the yarn and the needles.

_This’ll help you pass the time. A scarf should be easy to make. And you could give it to me, if you wanted. Just saying. P.S. Cap inspired, please_

A scarf is the least he could do for Sam.

But after at least an hour, Bucky’s knitting is interrupted by the sensation of someone approaching. Natasha’s the only one who’d try to sneak up on him.

“I do something wrong?” he asks without looking up, keeping his concentration on the movement of his fingers.

“Have you?” she counters coyly. He can see her lean her shoulder against the doorframe.

He raises a brow, still keeping his gaze on his work. “Can’t say I have.”

She’s silent for a few moments too long. Out of curiosity, Bucky stops knitting and looks up. Natasha’s face is gentle but her eyes are still, as always, sharp and observant.

“Can I ask you something? I’d go to Steve but I don’t think he’d appreciate it.”

Bucky knows this means it can’t be anything good. Still…

“What do you want?”

Natasha glances behind her before closing the door and moving deeper into the room, plopping down on the edge of the bed. “Is there anything the history books left out about you and Steve?”

Bucky’s expression turns confused. He doesn’t know what Natasha means, so he shrugs. “I’ve only read the stuff at the Smithsonian. It’s a lot more glamorous than what actually went on.”

Natasha hums, unsatisfied. “You know, sometimes when you’re good friends with someone, you start seeing them differently after a while.”

Bucky blinks dumbly. “What?”

She sighs like she’s being hassled. “Subtle doesn’t work on you very well,” she mumbles, as if he can’t hear her. Then, looking straight into his eyes, she asks, “Are you and Steve more than friends?”

Bucky can practically feel his blood run cold. Had his sudden realization brought on a dramatic change? It doesn’t need to be obvious for Natasha to catch on, but something must’ve shifted if she thinks…

“No?” he gets out, cursing the questioning tone and how it feeds Natasha’s curiosity.

“Why is your answer a question?”

“It’s not,” he bites out. “ _We’re_ not. Christ, what the hell, Natasha?”

“You’re defensive,” she tells him calmly. “Touchy subject?”

Bucky can’t stop the panic rising. “Look, I don’t know what you’re –”

“Bucky.” It sounds like a warning. “It’s different these days. Same-sex couples –”

“ _Fuck off_ ,” he hisses out in a deadly tone. Natasha is unconcerned with the possible weapon being held tightly in his hand. “You don’t know me as well as you think. Whatever you’re getting at, you’re way off base.”

Still calm, she states, “I’m not. So like I was saying, same-sex couples can get married and –”

Bucky cuts her off again, barely able to breathe. “I don’t wanna marry Steve, okay? That’s crazy. I don’t – I –”

“I wasn’t –” Natasha starts, only to sigh. She reaches out her small hands and sets them on his shoulders, anchoring him. Bucky empties his hands and clutches at her arms. His head hurts with all the activity going on inside and it’s harder to breathe, so he focuses on that, trying to get air into his lungs. There’s no great relief.

Faintly, he can hear Natasha asking JARVIS to turn up the room’s air conditioning.

“Bucky.” Her voice is smooth and steady. “There’s nothing wrong.”

He pushes himself away from her after a moment, when he’s able to think a little more clearly. Natasha doesn’t move from her spot, but her eyes follow him.

“We’re not talking about this,” he tells her, deadly serious.

“Okay.” And then she stands in one graceful movement and strides towards the door. “But I’m here, whenever you’re ready.”

He readies himself to tell her _never_ orto deny her thoughts again, but she slips out the door before he can. Bucky sits back down on the edge of the bed, unmoving, and thinks about anything _but_ the problem at hand. He thinks about gearing up with the Avengers to chase Strucker into what will undoubtedly be another trap, but at least _that_ he can get out of… or die trying. He thinks about how easy it was to kill Lukin, how Faustus never showed up to help reprogram The Winter Soldier, wonders how the things they’ve come across – like the man in the skull-mask – are connected to Strucker and his mysterious endgame.

Someone must’ve planted Sharon’s intel. Strucker’s been more than careful and is willing to let his partners die to keep himself safe. This Doctor Faustus could be an angle; if they get to him, surely they can make him talk, and then they’d find Strucker. And then they could work on taking out HYDRA before any new big shots take over. He could rest after, could just _be_ for the first time since he could remember feeling like a person. It’s a laughable thought, but he can’t let it go.

_Something worth running to…_ Natasha’s inside his head more than he’d like.

His thoughts can’t stay away from Steve for long. They never could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the river, the woods // astronautalis
> 
> Yay for sudden realizations! And it only took 80 thousand words for some actual obvious development with these two (or at least on Bucky's end, haha). Oh, wow... I just have to say thank you for sticking with me. Your support means so much.
> 
> Future chapters are going to be borrowing heavier from basic comic ideas. I'll let you think about what that means...
> 
> And now I sort of have a problem. I only have 3 more chapters written and writing more takes time, so once those get posted there might be a longer wait in between. I hope you guys stay around.
> 
> Thanks again for all the comments and kudos!! <3


	18. you say you wanted a solution, you just wanted to be missed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah, well –” Bucky glances back through the smoke to see that the fight, although dwindling, is still on. They aren’t in dire a position as Barton and Natasha had been in, but he can’t help thinking about them in this moment; can’t help remembering what he’d felt then, about if it were he and Steve and one of them was hurt. And then what Natasha had said just days previous… Bucky takes a deep breath. “We don’t have a minute. C’mon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Give me all your love now  
> 'cause for all we know  
> we might be dead by tomorrow  
> I can't go on wasting my time  
> adding scars to my heart  
> 'cause all I hear is 'I'm not ready now'  
> And I can tell that you didn't have  
> to face your mother losing her lover  
> without saying goodbye  
> without saying goodbye  
> 'cause she didn't have time  
> I don't want to judge what's in your heart  
> but if you're not ready for love  
> how can you be ready for life?"

Despite his instincts telling him to do so, Bucky doesn’t ignore Steve. He does, however, try very hard to ignore Natasha, who is somehow everywhere he is, watching him like a hawk that no one notices. And when it’s not Natasha, it’s Barton popping his head around corners with a very serious face, waiting to catch him doing something incriminating.

He endures two days and nights of this, all while trying not to run away from Steve every time he gets close, which is too often all of a sudden. They end up pressed together on the bed both nights and Bucky’s fingers always find their way around Steve’s wrist by the time he wakes up (only once was he sweating from nightmares; only once did his fingers leave bruises on Steve’s soft skin). They sit next to each other in the kitchen, angled inward on the barstools. Their shoulders stay squashed together on the couch in the living room when they decide to watch TV while waiting for Sharon to contact them about their upcoming strike on Strucker. The cartoon movie is fascinating, but Steve’s surprised, happy smile is even better to look at.

They sit together in the living room on the third day of waiting. Bucky has nothing better to do than watch as Steve operates some new Stark program on his tablet. When Bucky asks what exactly he’s doing, Steve explains that he’s going over all of the SHIELD files that Natasha leaked, which Stark saved to his own private technological archive.

“You told Stark yesterday you didn’t know how to print a document.”

Steve smirks and there’s a mischievous glint in his eye when he looks up to catch Bucky’s gaze. “He thinks I don’t know what I’m doing just because I can’t understand his tech-talk. Caught on pretty fast once I joined SHIELD, but I’ll let Tony think I can’t use his newfangled computers as long as it makes him happy.” He fixes his gaze back on his tablet screen, a small smile still in place. “And the internet’s really neat. Helpful, ‘specially when you’re trying to catch up with a world that never stops changing.”

The way Steve describes it, Bucky doesn’t think he’s ready for the internet just yet.

They continue on in silence, Steve concentrating on his tablet while Bucky concentrates on Steve instead of the television. He thinks Steve pretends not to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t care. He lets out a noise from the back of his throat and shakes his head when Steve looks up curiously.

If he’s inquisitive enough to press, they don’t find out because the sound of crashing metal echoes through the house. It startles Bucky, makes him drop to the floor instead of to his feet like it does for Steve. Stark’s cursing is muffled, but it gives a reason to the sudden disruption and it calms Bucky down. The hand outstretched for him helps, too.

“What’s he up to?” Steve asks as he yanks Bucky to his feet.

“No good, as always,” JARVIS replies. Then, more seriously, “He is attempting to reconfigure a new suit of armor.”

“Not going so well, is it?” Bucky guesses. The resounding clattering is all the answer they need.

Steve sets his tablet down and heads towards the hall, into the lab, and Bucky follows close behind. Tony, if you don’t count his robots, is the only one inside.

“Does Pepper know about this?” Steve asks, not even bothering to hide his amusement. Bucky wouldn’t want him to, anyway; he likes seeing him in a good mood.

The look Tony gives them clearly conveys that he thinks Steve is being a little shit. “Go be someone else’s grandfather, would you?” He pulls on something that clearly won’t come off his foot before grumbling, “I have permission.”

Steve snorts.

“Incoming call, sir.”

Tony doesn’t even have to tell JARVIS to patch it through.

“Our team has eyes on Baron Wolfgang von Strucker,” a female voice cuts through the air. Bucky assumes this must be Sharon.

“Do your superiors know you’re involving us?” Steve asks.

“If you were to just… show up, we couldn’t really stop you.”

Tony makes a thoughtful, approving noise. Then he turns to Steve, waving his hands. “So, assemble the Avengers and all that. Lemme just – grab a suit that works –”

__________________________________________

“Buck?” Steve whispers. Everyone can hear Barton mutter _code names over com_ , but he goes ignored. “Where are you?”

“In position. I can see you.”

“I can’t see _you_.”

“That’s the point,” Bucky murmurs, stilling himself so as not to move his scope from the window. He’s got someone in his crosshairs, but he doesn’t know who. “Means no one else can.”

“Sharon said be ready for an army,” Steve continues, to everyone this time.

“Speaking of,” Sam says, “where is she?”

“Haven’t seen her yet,” Natasha replies, and no one knows where she’s gone at this point, not until she announces that she’s found a way in. Bucky moves his scope away from the man on the other side of the window long enough to follow Steve until he disappears into the building. The man is pacing by the time Bucky looks back to him.

Steve goes over their plan one more time. “Thor and Hulk on standby. Falcon and Sergeant Barnes on perimeter. Hawkeye, Widow, and Iron Man with me. Don’t worry about Sharon and her team. Everyone ready?”

“Quick question. Strucker, Faustus – whoever’s in there, are we eliminating the targets or taking them prisoner?”

Steve pauses briefly on the answer to Bucky’s question.

“We want either alive, but we’ll do what we have to. Anyone else is –” There’s a slight sigh, like he’s not quite used to killing, even now. “Take out whoever you need to.”

Once everyone voices their agreement, the action starts. Bucky can see that, while there may not really be an _army_ , there are a lot of HYDRA henchmen in the area. The man he’d had his sights on fled as soon as he caught wind of intruders, so Bucky settles on headshots to anyone who gets in his line of fire. After several rounds, he moves his position, not wanting to be found out. He can see Falcon on the opposite building, goggles down and gun in hand, ready to swoop in when needed.

It turns out, he’s needed fairly quickly. The guy in the skull mask makes an appearance, coming out of nowhere, getting a shot in on Steve. Bucky knows he should’ve been in there instead of on perimeter, could’ve protected Steve if he had been – but he can’t dwell. He leaps off the building, maybe a bit recklessly, gives a look of thanks to Sam when he’s caught midair before something can go wrong. Bucky swings himself out of the grasp to crash through a window, tucking into a roll as Sam zooms in behind him.

Steve isn’t down, is very much up and moving, fighting in a way that’s both wild and controlled, but Bucky can see the blood seeping from the blue cloth. Hadn’t anyone been watching his back? He has to tell himself that yeah, of course they had been; Natasha, Tony, and Barton wouldn’t let anything happen to Steve if they could help it, but it’s an anger he can’t escape.

Very agilely, Bucky leaps at the man and crushes his wrist with the power of his metal hand, and then lifts his flesh one up to pull the mask off. The severity of the burns makes him hard to recognize, but the eyes are familiar.

Oddly, Steve gets it before he does.

“Rumlow?” he hisses out just before he slams his shield against his opponent’s chest. Bucky lets go just in time to allow him to go flying.

Rumlow laughs as he tries to pull himself up, spitting out blood. “Yeah, Cap. I’d say it’s nothin’ personal, but this time it kinda is.” He spares a glance at Bucky. “You’ve got our asset.”

Bucky jumps into the fight then, taking on Rumlow so Steve doesn’t have to. Rumlow’s chaotic and unafraid of pain, and he uses his tasers at every chance he gets, but Bucky’s still got The Winter Soldier in him, always will. He fights with brutal efficiency, but the problem is that Rumlow keeps going for Steve. Bucky tries to keep him away, tries to force him in another direction. They end up in the rafters.

It’s a mistake. It’s a diversion.

Once Bucky’s away, an explosion occurs right near Steve and Tony. He can only hope that the shield was brought up fast enough to block most of the damage.

Bucky lets Rumlow get away when he jumps down into the fire and smoke in search for Steve. He sees Stark first, his armor scratched and covered in soot. Steve’s not far behind him, curled up slightly with his shield overhead. It’s a good sign.

“Steve,” Bucky says, breathless as he runs over. He yanks the shield down, propping it up against Steve’s back to get a look at his friend’s face. Bucky touches his fingertips against the visible skin, brushing over the blood and dirt, but the helmet seems to have done its job in protecting the head. “Steve?” he prompts again, heart pumping fast. His fingers move downward on their own accord, skirting over chest and stomach, looking for injuries even though he can’t really tell with the thick uniform in the way.

“Bucky,” Steve bites out, a little dazedly. “Bucky – hey, m’fine.”

He sighs in relief and lets his hand rest near the star on Steve’s chest. “You scared me,” he admits, a little embarrassed. “And Rumlow’s gone.”

“Awe, Buck,” Steve says with a cough. “You let ‘im get away?”

Bucky narrows his eyes, though neither of them is particularly serious (except maybe Bucky _is_ , has to stop himself from shaking). “Had to come check on you, punk. Getting yourself blown up…” He shakes his head, disapproving.

Steve sniffs indignantly, but smiles. “I’m good.” A pause, then, “Stark?”

“I’m fine,” Tony huffs from nearby, voice muffled by the suit instead of clear like it is over the coms. “Honestly, I’m kinda offended it took you so long to ask.”

Bucky shifts beside Steve. “You good to get up?”

Steve tries to get himself standing, pauses when he realizes he can’t, and then tries again. Bucky has to force him down with a firm hand.

“Just my leg,” Steve explains. “I’ll be good in a minute.”

“Yeah, well –” Bucky glances back through the smoke to see that the fight, although dwindling, is still on. They aren’t in dire a position as Barton and Natasha had been in, but he can’t help thinking about them in this moment; can’t help remembering what he’d felt then, about if it were he and Steve and one of them was hurt. And then what Natasha had said just days previous… Bucky takes a deep breath. “We don’t have a minute. C’mon.”

Bucky uses both hands to grip Steve by the belts on his chest, pulling him up as gently as he can. Steve gives him a look as Bucky starts to drag him behind better cover. It’s a good thing Steve’s lighter when he’s conscience.

Bucky plops down beside Steve, trying to stop him from squirming.

“Will you let me take my helmet off at least?” he asks, a little agitated by Bucky forcing his arms down, guiding one of Steve’s hands towards a wound on his side.

“You’re bleeding, idiot,” he tells him, even as he obliges and unbuckles the helmet. It rolls a few inches away when it hits the floor. When he takes his eyes off Steve to peek around the corner, he sees Barton and Natasha side-by-side, finishing off a small group. He curses their names for making him want to do this. “Hey, you know when you said you thought I had somethin’ to tell you?” His eyes dart back down towards Steve, who’s trying to at least prop himself up onto his elbows. “Well, I think I do now.”

“Quit actin’ like I’m dying.”

Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and squeezes. “Just lemme say it, okay?” He doesn’t wait for Steve to agree. “You’re great, you know?”

Steve scoffs. “Buck –”

“You are. You used to be this scrawny little punkass kid. You had a chip on your shoulder and you tried to be real upstanding, but you wouldn’t sit down when you thought somethin’ was wrong. Didn’t care about the law so much as what you thought was right. They wouldn’t let you in the army, so what’d you do? Got yourself a new body. Never cared about your own safety. Still don’t. You’re a national icon – you’re _Captain America_. And you know what? I don’t give a damn.”

Despite his split lip, Steve’s smiling like he’s hearing the best news in the world. “You never did.”

“I only ever cared about Steve, _my_ Steve. And who I am now, who I’m gonna be for the rest of however long I end up living? I’ll only care about you. We might be moving on from the past, but some things stay the same. I’m following you, always. ‘Til the end of the line. Just wanted you to know.”

Steve’s looking at him, eyes filled with intensity, narrowing with something like a challenge. His lips are parted and bloody and his hair is tousled, and Bucky has never seen anything so beautiful.

“Hey!” Barton hisses over the com. “There’s a guy hiding out up here. Should I take a shot?”

“Can you get the drop on him?” Steve asks, forgoing whatever moment they were having in order to lead his team.

Barton makes a noise that sounds unsure, but says that he’ll try.

Bucky has to work up enough courage to continue. When Steve attempts to move again, he sets a gentle hand on his shoulder, locking their gazes.

“I, uh –”

It happens all at once.

Natasha’s voice is sharp and suspicious when she calls out, “Sharon?”

Bucky can’t see from his position, but he hears multiple people storming in, and they’re unwelcome if Sam’s angry “ _Hey!_ ” is an indication.

He catches a glimpse of someone before the sound of gunfire goes off far too close, making his ears ring and his eyes shut tight. Slowly, he wipes at his face and opens his eyes to see his skin streaked with blood. The image beyond his hand is blurry and wrong, so very _wrong_. When his eyes focus, his mind goes blank.

The ruckus nearby sounds distant. There are shouts but he can’t even begin to make out the words.

Steve’s laying there, half on Bucky’s lap, limp and unbreathing. The red is striking over pale skin and blond hair.

“Steve,” Bucky says softly. He can’t take his eyes away from the horrible sight. If he’d kept his helmet on, maybe… maybe the bullet – “Steve?”

Bucky can hear the hum of voices again, can feel something touching him, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, cannot comprehend. No, it’s not – it can’t be. Steve was looking at him, was listening, and Bucky had been talking, probably rambling out more than necessary, but he was gonna say it, he _will_ say it, if Steve would just…

“Hey,” he says, not quiet and not loud, not anything. “Steve –”

Bucky fits his fingers around Steve’s wrist. There’s no pulse. He moves his hand (it’s shaking; he doesn’t even notice) up to Steve’s neck, claws at the uniform until he can get to the skin underneath, until he can press down and breathe easy when he feels the _thump thump thump_. It isn’t there.

His face creases in confusion.

“Bucky.”

It’s not until he hears Natasha voice – and he recognizes it as Natasha, now – that he begins to come back to himself.

She speaks in a low, gentle tone, full of caution as if she were appealing to a wild, wounded animal.

“Bucky, put the knife down.”

The words startle him. He hadn’t pulled a knife, but when he squeezes his fingers against his palm, because he just can’t look away from the thing he can’t understand in front of him, he feels the weight of the weapon. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with it, if he’s pointing it at someone or himself, doesn’t know –

“Bucky, let it go.”

It slips from his fingertips and clatters to the floor, and the sound is deafening to his ears.

“Bucky.”

The tone of her voice, the choking sound of it, makes him look up before he realizes that he has to look down. Natasha’s kneeling beside him, her small hands balled into fists pressed tight against her thighs. She looks a mess, not just with the dirt and bruises and blood on her skin and clothes, but because her usual control is gone, replaced with something hard and pained, something like sorrow.

Bucky’s eyes move from her and land on an armored figure splayed out in a corner, alone, the metal plate of the mask thrown somewhere to the side. Tony’s expression is nearly as dazed as Bucky feels.

His attention is drawn slowly back to Natasha when he sees someone move carefully to stand behind her. It’s Sam, and his jaw is clenched and his shoulders are sagged, and next to him is Thor, who’s holding an unconscious woman against his side. He notices the oddly shaped gun on the floor beside her.

“What happened?” His voice is hollow.

Natasha’s eyes dart from Bucky to Steve and then back. She licks her lips. “Bucky,” she says again, like it might steady him. “Can you move away from Steve?”

He shakes his head, movements slow. _Why_?

“He’s…” Sam tries, but nothing else follows.

It’s Tony who speaks next, who shouts from his corner, voice tight like he can barely breathe; “Bullet to the brain? He’s not coming back from that.”

Bucky looks down, presses his flesh fingers against Steve’s face.

“ _Steve_.”

There’s no answer, no movement; he can’t tell if he was expecting there to be or not.

Bucky’s fingertips inch towards the bloody head wound. A firm hand grips his wrist, stopping him. It’s Natasha again, and he hears her speaking, telling him not to, telling him to stand, to move away. He doesn’t budge when they try to move him, doesn’t register his own snarl. He knows he’ll bruise when he feels strong hands start to drag him away from Steve’s body.

Bucky doesn’t put up a fight.

__________________________________________

He stays near Steve on the jet ride back to their safe house. He doesn’t let anyone help him carry the body inside and ignores their mixed directions as to where to put him, choosing to take him back to their shared bedroom instead. He lays him on the bed gently, puts the helmet and shield near his side, and grabs a wet rag from the bathroom down the hall. The door gets closed and locked behind him; it won’t keep anyone out physically, if they really wanted to get in, but it’s a clear hint. No one bothers him.

Bucky brushes the rag against Steve’s ghostly face, wiping dirt and blood away from smooth skin. For a moment, he can pretend that things are like they used to be so long ago. For a moment, he can pretend that they’re back to where they first started, with Bucky taking care of Steve after a fight, because he can remember it, can feel it in his chest like he can feel it in his mind. For a moment, he can ignore the truth.

The moment doesn’t last.

Most of the blood gets washed away, staining the rag like Bucky’s fingertips, but nothing’s better. It might even be worse. And he still can’t let himself understand what happened, how things had gone so wrong so fast. Someone had shot Steve… why hadn’t Bucky done something? Why hadn’t he stopped it from happening? He’d been too busy focusing on his feelings. Selfish, idiotic.

If he’d just –

If they’d just –

No. _No_. Steve wasn’t… he _couldn’t_ be…

__________________________________________

They leave Bucky alone in the room for nearly 48 hours, 5 of which he’d spent asleep. After that, the lock gets picked and he’s restrained so they can steal Steve’s body from him. Bucky watches the display with apt attention and no emotion. He notes that Sam and Thor are the ones to haul the body away. He doesn’t ask what they’ll do with it or where the others are.

Natasha stays behind, unimposing, and it makes him feel sick.

She tries to speak to him, though she gets no answers. She sits as still as he does and just watches; the wall, the tablet screen, Bucky’s face. Barton brings food and stays only long enough to eat silently beside Natasha before getting up to leave the two alone again. When she does leaves, it’s only to go to the bathroom or to take a shower and change her clothes. She stretches on his floor, sets hands on his knees or shoulders, runs her fingers through his hair even when it becomes greasy after days of not being cleaned.

He just wants to be alone, to attempt to understand his confusion and the emptiness inside of him that appeared so suddenly. He knows that’s why she stays.

__________________________________________

“You need to get up,” she tells him, firm but not unkind, after what must be close to a week. “Go take a shower and get some exercise.”

He throws the tablet she’d left on the dresser at her head.

He takes to throwing and smashing things after that. When Sam comes in, offering soft words, Bucky throws a lamp at the wall beside him. When he feels someone lingering by the door, he kicks the nightstand over. When Natasha stares too long, he punches a hole through the wall, and when Thor or Banner tries to check on him, he rips the closet door off its hinges.

But he never says a word or makes a sound.

“Bucky,” Natasha tries after a few more days. “We’re having a memorial tomorrow. Arlington. Sam suggested it.”

He lets the words sink in. They’re having a _memorial_ for _Steve_ tomorrow.

Bucky tears up the bed when she leaves.

__________________________________________

In the early hours of the morning, he scribbles his denial down onto a sheet of paper in the form of something he remembered reading once.

_And loyal still, as he gave the blows_

_Of his warrior-strength to his country’s foes_

_Mild and gentle, as he was brave_

_When the sweetest love of his life he gave_

_To simple things, where the violets grew_

_Blue as the eyes they were likened to_

_The touches of his hands have strayed_

_As reverently as his lips have prayed_

_When the little brown thrush that harshly chirred_

_Was dear to him as the mocking-bird_

_And he pitied as much as a man in pain_

_A writhing honey-bee wet with rain_

_Think of him still as the same, I say_

_He is not dead, he is just away_

He uses a knife to stick it to the door for all of them to see.

Later, after everyone leaves, he notes that the knife is still stuck to the door, but the paper underneath it is missing.

There isn’t anything on the news about Captain America’s… death. It wasn’t glamorous, like crashing a plane into the arctic to save the world, so maybe that means the public won’t find out. Bucky wonders who suggested keeping it a secret and isn’t sure how he feels about it.

“Figured you’d stick around.”

Bucky hadn’t even heard anyone approaching, he’d been so immersed in thought.

He glances at Tony long enough to take in his disheveled appearance. “Why’re you still here?”

Tony scratches at his chin. “Uh, yeah, I’m not really _good_ with these kinds of things? Mourning and – I take it you’re not either.”

Bucky turns back towards the muted television.

“Pepper says locking myself away is terribly unhealthy. But you know what I say? I’m drinking way more water than alcohol, so that’s something. Gotta mix some good in with all that bad, right?”

Bucky inhales deeply through his nose. His eyes are on the TV, but his focus is on Tony. “Who did it?”

He doesn’t need to specify what he means.

There’s a long stretch of silence that would make Bucky think Tony had simply left if he didn’t still feel the other man lingering.

“Faustus,” Tony finally answers. “Sharon shot him, but it was Faustus. He had her under some sort of mind… control.”

At Tony’s hesitance, Bucky glances back over. He watches the way Tony’s fingers tap absently against his shoulder, the way he keeps rubbing at his nose. He won’t look at Bucky directly.

“He was the guy Barton saw?” It’s just a guess, but he feels like he’s right. And it’s an even bigger guess but he can’t stop himself from thinking it: “The guy I had in my sights and did nothing about?”

Tony’s breath is long and suffering. “You didn’t know.

“If I took the shot, I could’ve stopped it.”

“Don’t put the blame on yourself, okay? It won’t make anything better.”

Bucky closes his eyes and rests in the numbness he feels. He doesn’t even twitch when the couch dips beside him.

“It wasn’t so long ago I thought I lost Pepper because of something I did. I couldn’t save her. It’s a whole messed up situation that’s actually pretty okay now, but when I saw her fall – I never felt anything like it. Losing someone when they’re your whole life…” Tony swallows and holds his eyes shut tight for a few seconds, blinking quickly when he opens them up again. “I don’t need to tell you I’m sorry, but I am.” He clears his throat and shifts in his spot. “Everyone handles it differently. Problem is, you gotta _handle it_ , or you’re just lost and the only person you’d let find you is gone.”

Tony hops off the couch then and Bucky watches as he disappears into the kitchen. He hears cabinets opening and closing, glasses clinking, and the Tony reappears with a bottle of alcohol and two shot glasses.

“This part of your good-in-the-bad?” Bucky asks flatly. He can’t bother trying to muster up any emotion. Tony doesn’t seem to mind.

“Uh – debatable.” With both glasses in one hand, Tony fills them up and then hands one over carefully for Barnes to grasp. He looks a little shifty for a moment. “Should we toast? Is that appropriate?”

Bucky holds the glass carefully, lets it dangle by the tips of his metal fingers, watches the liquid slush as he swirls it.

“Why am I asking you?” Tony mutters, but then he huffs out a breath and raises his glass, standing tall, and finally looks Bucky in the eye. “To Steve Rogers; A man stupid enough to be America’s target and a man good enough not to complain.”

Somehow… hearing Tony talk about it makes things more real. Steve’s gone. After everything, he’s gone.

Bucky has tears in his eyes but he’s not ashamed, could never be embarrassed for feeling the loss of Steve. It’s the first time he’s had to, really. He wasn’t around to know about the plane crash and Steve had been stolen from his mind anyway, but here, now, with how he’s grown and what he’s learned – he knows losing Steve is the worst thing to ever happen to him.

The tears slide down his cheeks and his voice might be thick but it’s also steady when he holds up his glass and declares, “To Steve.”

He can’t taste the liquid he swallows down. It could be poison and he wouldn’t care.

__________________________________________

Bucky’s rubbing his fingers over the bamboo knitting needles someone (Sam) had left on the dresser as he lays across the remains of the bed when Natasha clears her throat from the doorway. He turns to look at her through heavy lids, wearing a scowl. She looks immaculate in her simple attire.

“D’you bury his body?” His words are slightly slurred. He wishes he was drunk instead of sleep deprived.

Natasha shakes her head. “He’d be dug up in hours.” It’s the sad truth. “But he’s safe with Coulson.”

“And his company?”

“The twins don’t know.”

He starts to twist back around when Natasha’s words freeze him in his spot. “You were telling him, weren’t you?”

He shouldn’t’ve tried, should’ve left it alone. Things would still be okay if he had.

He swallows. “Doesn’t matter.”

“You know it does.”

“He didn’t have a damn clue,” Bucky says, his tone both bitter and wistful. “So, no. It doesn’t.”

Natasha moves deeper into the room, ignoring the mess. “Give him some credit,” she says with her lips quirked almost fondly. “He wasn’t completely oblivious and you weren’t as subtle as you thought.” Bucky’s eyes follow her as she props herself up against the dresser. He can see her chest deflate, though he doesn’t hear her sigh. “Did they ever tell you that love was for children? It’s innocent and pure and uncomplicated, and everything we lose once we grow up. But it’s also acceptance and loyalty and forgiveness, and those are so much more important.”

Her words make him want to curl up.

“And what makes you an expert all of a sudden?” he says irritably, because he’s tired and angry and lost.

“I’m not. Far from it.” Her laugh is light and joyless. “But we learn.”

He wishes he never did.

Natasha seems to contemplate something for a long while, never taking her eyes off of Bucky’s still figure. He watches her watch him and knows she’s thinking seriously when she bites her lip. “You know what he said, after he saw you again for the first time? He said _even when I had nothing, I had Bucky_. I bet you can guess what that sounds like to me.”

Her words bring on one of the first waves of pain he’s had in days. He can’t accept her thoughts or their implication. “He was stuck on who I used to be,” he says stubbornly, balling his hands into fists around the bamboo needles.

Natasha’s eyes narrow. “And what about since? You went from denying your feelings to insisting they were one-sided. I can’t give you any answers, but I can tell you I think you’re wrong. You need to accept what’s happened because it’ll kill you otherwise. And if you think you don’t care, then know that Steve would.”

His nose stings and his eyes blur and it’s all just too much.

“ _Stop_.”

“I’m sorry you lost him,” she says, finally. “I’m sorry we all did.”

He stares at the hand she holds out to him, peeking up at her expression with confusion on his own.

“I’ve got a samovar,” she says, like that explains everything. Maybe it does since he understands that Natasha is offering to drink tea with him, and that it’s more about the comfort of the gesture than anything. “We’ll make zavarka. You think you’ll like Russian Caravan?”

As it turns out, he does.

He thinks Steve might’ve liked it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we might be dead by tomorrow // soko
> 
> So... hi. I didn't want to post this right away because I'm barely writing anything new, but I had to get it out. I know this happened fast (I hope it didn't feel rushed, exactly?), but it's meant to be that way because I felt dragging it out wouldn't have worked for this story since the tag is "temporary character death," meaning that this isn't going to be a main focus for long. And grief is hard.
> 
> As you can tell, I'm taking stuff from the comics, like the MCU does, and fitting it to this story. I couldn't not include the death of Captain America, right? (And I think I kind of hinted at it a couple times, with Bucky's recurring thoughts of not being okay without Steve. In this chapter alone I had Steve say he wasn't dying, haha. I'm trash.) So you can probably guess what other major comic arc is going to pop up towards the end of the story, maybe?
> 
> I hope you guys still end up enjoying this chapter? I didn't want to make Bucky's attempted confession too sappy, but he's capable of emotion again and I wanted to show that. Have some info to cheer you up: the Steve/Bucky stuff is actually going to get rolling soon (Weird, I know, since Steve just died, but whatever).
> 
> I also went back and changed Natasha's little speech, which ended up making it more sentimental than I'd planned, so I hope you don't see it as too out of character. And Tony had kind of a sentimental moment too, but come on, look what's happened.
> 
> Bucky and poetry, back in action. He wrote down part of a poem by James Whitcomb Riley, I believe.
> 
> Side note: the wonderful suggestions for the bamboo needles and the tea came from Afrieal. Thanks!  
> Second side note: I have no idea about tea and just having Natasha mention it took a lot of googling. If I said something wrong, I apologize, and I'll try to fix it if you correct me.
> 
> Your comments are dear to my heart, I'm serious. And I so very much appreciate the kudos. Thanks for sticking with this story!! I only have a couple of chapters left that are ready to post, so expect a little bit of waiting time after that because I need to actually get on the ball and start writing more. (cries/ I have quite a bit to go, why did I do this).


	19. call me a safe bet, i'm betting i'm not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s body is on ice again and the sight makes Bucky short of breath. He tries to inhale deeply and presses his hand against the clear chamber, staring at his friend, eyes roaming over still features. It’s so easy to think Steve’s just sleeping, but the wound on his head is proof that –
> 
> Bucky pauses, his mournful expression turning confused. The wound isn’t there, is gone like it had never existed. No scarring – nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, I will try, but I tell you it ain't easy using only words  
> So I'll begin, but I'll start at the end  
> the day I said, 'so long, my friend'  
> I still remember well, the smile that would not die  
> The tears began to swell, the tears I dare not fight  
> 'cause now I'm alive, I'm taking my first breath  
> Oh, I'm alive, and this time I won't forget"

“We’re startin’ it up again,” Sam says tiredly, leaning against the couch Bucky’s curled up on. They haven’t talked much since everything went down. “None of us know if you should come or not, but that’s your decision and we wanted to make sure you made it.”

Bucky stares down at the empty teacup he’s been holding, unsure of what he wants to do. On one hand, he wants to avenge Steve, to go after Faustus and make him pay for forcing someone to commit murder. He doesn’t like to think of himself as a victim, but Sharon is and so is Steve. Bucky wants to take action. But on the other hand, he can’t seem to force himself into the mindset of the Soldier anymore. He can’t make himself blank and unfeeling just to get a job done, not when it’s so close to home.

Bucky remembers thinking he’d fall apart if he lost Steve. He so desperately wants to keep himself together.

“Do you have any leads on Faustus?” he asks; he doesn’t give a crap about Strucker right now.

“Wanda’s trying, but she can’t get a read. Vision thinks he might have somethin’ once he goes over some of the tech we found.”

Bucky thinks back to the weird gun that was used to shoot Steve. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face.

He can’t stay behind, can’t give up, has to keep fighting.

“Stark’s got a suit for you,” Sam says after a brief period of silence. And then, more quietly, “But y’know, we were thinkin’… the world needs Captain America. Maybe you should take up the shield.”

It takes a moment for the words to settle with Bucky, for him to understand what he’s hearing, and when he does he turns to give Sam a look that conveys very clearly how crazy and terrible that idea sounds.

Sam is very serious.

“ _You_ do it,” Bucky says, turning himself away once again. “You’re a better fit than me.”

“I appreciate that, man, but I have to disagree. And I mean, outta the two of us, who’s more likely to survive a 200 foot drop?”

“Steve’s a shit role model.” Bucky sniffs dryly and leans forward to set the cup down. “You’ve got wings. Put that over the suit and you’ll be good to go.”

“Tempting,” Sam concedes. “But no. I don’t wanna be Captain America.”

“And you think I do?” His words come out with more bite then he’d meant, but Sam isn’t deterred; if anything, he’s encouraged.

“I think it’d be a way to honor him,” Sam continues, gentle but sure. “You as Captain America? Kickin’ ass and takin’ names?  Come on.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Bad idea.”

“ _Good_ idea.”

“You wouldn’t be replacing him.” Of course Natasha’s in on this. Bucky can see her leaning against the wall with a bottle of water in her hand. She eyes him appraisingly. “You’ll need a haircut.”

__________________________________________

He doesn’t know why he agreed to this or why he lets Natasha dictate his life all of a sudden, but it’s happening and he’s about ready to start shaking because of the nerves flowing through him.

“Hold still,” she tells him, the electric shaver in hand. His whole body tenses when the buzzing starts.

He shuts his eyes and squeezes his fingers towards his palm on each pass, trying his hardest not to flinch when the sound gets too close to his ears. He’s not exactly ready to say goodbye to long strands covering his face, but Natasha’s all business and Bucky at least thinks that a little change might be good for him.

But taking on Steve’s legacy might be a little too much.

How can he go from The Winter Soldier to Captain America? He can’t. It’s not right, it doesn’t fit – _he_ doesn’t fit. But Sam and Natasha seem to think otherwise.

When it’s done and he looks into the mirror, the man he sees is clean and hollow and ready to jump into a fight he can finally call his own. He can’t remember the feel of having shorter hair, but it’s not so bad.

The suit he’s presented with is a replica of the one Steve had worn on the Insight helicarriers, which makes him uncomfortable but he doesn’t say anything about it. Thanks to Tony, it’s already been tailored to fit the differences in their body shapes. He’s not as wide-shouldered or as tall, but his bulk and muscle isn’t so far off from Steve’s. The sleeve of his left arm has also been altered to allow for better movement. He only has to wear one glove over his flesh hand.

The helmet, which he detests, fits well atop his new haircut. He doesn’t want to wear it, though he knows he needs to, but that’s not what keeps him from taking it off. There are wings on both sides and he remembers wearing a blue jacket with a matching wing patched to his arm. He wishes he could have that on his shoulder instead of the red star.

Bucky’s hesitant to step inside the lab with Steve’s uniform covering all of his body. He feels like a fake, an imposter; he’s not good enough to follow in Steve’s footsteps, but he’s been doing it for so long anyway he might as well keep it going.

All eyes are on him once he makes himself step through the doorway.

“Don’t slouch,” Natasha tells him. His spine straightens on her command.

She moves forward deliberately, holding the shield tightly with both hands as she presents it forward for him to grab. He takes a second to stare down at it before he reaches out. It feels strange in his hands, but not unfamiliar. His fingers curl around the straps like they have few times before, only this time he can handle it. This time it’s his to use.

Bucky glances at all the people crowded around him, Steve’s friends and teammates – _his_ friends and teammates. They’ve all helped him so much, even when they had every reason not to. If this is what they want, to see Bucky as Captain America, then he’ll do it, for them and for Steve.

“You ready to take the reins here?” Barton asks, arms crossed tight over his chest.

Bucky takes a deep breath. “If you tell me where to start, I will be.”

__________________________________________

“The easiest to get to is probably Rumlow,” Bucky had told them. “But an interrogation, even by Black Widow, won’t work on him. Now Faustus… he’s the guy we need. We can use his own tech against him to get our answers. Problem is he and Strucker are practically invisible.”

“Wanda and Pietro are helping Vision work it out.”

Bucky tilts his head; the look on his face asks _really_?

“It’s all we have right now,” Natasha explains. “And they aren’t so different from you.”

HYDRA creations gone rogue. Yeah, he supposes he can’t exactly judge.

They head out with the mission of taking down three of HYDRA’s biggest threats.

__________________________________________

As predicted, Rumlow is the easiest to find and take down, but he gives them nothing to work with. Sam looks about ready to punch the guy in the face and Bucky is far more encouraging than he should be.

No one’s discussing whether or not Rumlow should be disposed of, so Bucky doesn’t mention it. Instead, they take his unconscious body to a rendezvous point where Coulson insists he has a secure place to hold anyone they need to keep locked away. There’s a long moment where he just stares at Bucky, unblinking, and Bucky thinks he knows what’s going through the man’s head; he remembers the discussion about trading cards, knows this guy practically worshiped Steve, and now someone else in wearing the uniform, pretending to be him and failing spectacularly.

So it surprises him when Coulson offers a hand and tells him, with gentle eyes, “If anyone can handle being Captain America, it’s you, Sergeant Barnes. Tell the Avengers I said good luck.”

It had only taken them nearly 36 hours to reach Rumlow, but being back at the safe house is a relief. Bucky’s able to pull himself all the way out of the uniform and into a t-shirt and sweatpants he got out of the dryer. He’s shoving his hands into his pockets to rearrange them correctly when his fingers clasp around something. He pulls out a small strip of paper, looks at it curiously. It’s rumpled from getting wet and then dried, the tiny words sort of faded and splotched, but he can still read them just fine. He only lets his eyes scan over the words _you are the_ before he crumples it in his fist and heads towards the nearest trash can. But he can’t bring himself to throw it away.

Sentimentality is a weakness, but he doesn’t care. The paper gets shoved into one of the compartments on the uniform’s belt and the rest of the night is dedicated to getting his mind off anything that might make his chest ache.

It’s as if the people around him have signals in their heads that go off when Bucky’s in distress because at least one person has been popping in when he feels low. Instead of Natasha and her tea or Sam and his food (which he only brings as an incentive for Bucky to keep working on his scarf), it’s Thor. With his cape and hammer put away, he almost looks like a normal human instead of a god.

“Come gaze at the stars with me,” he requests, his voice more of a low murmur. “They are very beautiful tonight.”

Bucky has no reason to say no, thinks _what the hell_ and follows Thor out of the cloaked safe house, moving far out into the surrounding field. They sit themselves down onto the grass and listen to the sounds of crickets chirping in the night. The breeze is light and cool, and Bucky finds himself stretching out to feel more of it while Thor lays inactive beside him.

“When I first came to Midgard, I found a new appreciation for the stars,” he tells Bucky idly. “They look so small here. And they have such fantastic stories behind them.”

“You do this a lot?” Bucky asks. He wonders if Thor, who lives in _space_ , spends a lot of time looking up at the sky when he’s on Earth.

“Yes. I sometimes think of home and all who I have lost.”

Bucky turns his head just enough to see Thor’s earnest expression as he stares up at the sky.

“But then I reason that Jane is watching the same stars as I,” he continues, a soft smile curling his lips, “and it reminds me that not all is wrong.”

Bucky wishes he could agree.

“Midgard is my favorite of the nine realms.”.

“Why’s that?”

“It has Jane,” Thor says, and he makes it sound like everyone should love Earth for that same reason. “I would give anything to stay by her side. But I am here for you as well, to help avenge our friend Steve. I know he was very beloved to you.”

Bucky clears his throat, his eyes trailing over the dark sky, mesmerized by the vastness of it. His mind had been like that, but now it’s cluttered, full of memories and thoughts and emotions, full of Steve.

He shifts on the grass and brings a hand up to rub at his nose. “Yeah, well,” he says with a sigh. “Thanks.”

Thor offers to tell Bucky the tales of the stars as he had been taught by Jane’s friends. He tells him the tales of Orion and Gemini and Lyra and, finally, Hydra. Bucky had been listening to the depressing tales, of course, and even took a liking to the story of Gemini, of how the brothers fought together and were reunited in the Heavens after one, filled with sorrow, begged to share the other’s immortality. But it’s the story of Hercules defeating the monster Hydra that renews his vigor. Steve sounds like more of the Hercules type, but maybe Bucky can slay the monster now, in his friend’s image, once and for all.

Thor has faith in him, at least.

__________________________________________

“The technology used to kill Captain Rogers is made by energy in its purest form with traces of Asgardian science – or as humans know it, magic.”

“Thanks, JARVIS – uh,Vision. By the way, _why_ do you have the same voice?”

“I quite like his voice, sir.”

Tony casts his eyes skyward with a look of exasperation on his face. “I really don’t need two of you around. One’s more than enough.”

Bucky watches as Tony moves about the small space, viewing the data Vision had sent over. He’s holding his helmet against his side and can’t stop rubbing his thumb over the wing pattern facing towards the ceiling.

“Okay, so, magic powered by energy? Sounds vaguely familiar. I’m gonna take a guess and say… glowstick of destiny?”

Confused by Tony’s words, Bucky glances at Natasha for an explanation.

“Loki’s scepter,” she says. He recognizes the name Loki but doesn’t know anything about the scepter he’d previously heard of.  “We took it to SHIELD, which means it went straight into HYDRA’s hands.”

“The Maximoff Twins seem to recall seeing the scepter and believe it may have been used to give them the superhuman abilities they now possess.”

“Right.” Tony gives a deep exhale, deflating slightly. “Let’s just add more shit to the pile. What else you got for me?”

The screens Tony is looking at shift around as more things appear. There’s a picture of the strange gun that Sharon had used to shoot Steve. Tony reaches out to hold the picture in his hands, flipping it over to get a better look.

“Why not use just a regular gun?” Tony murmurs.

“I don’t know,” Vision answers. “But if the device is uniquely created by Faustus and he continues using similar technology, I believe Wanda and I may be able to find him.”

Bucky hopes they get something soon.

They all have to find things to keep them busy the few days that go without contact from Vision. Tony tinkers and monitors what’s left of SHIELD very closely, which is how he knows that the World Security Council is attempting to make a secret deal with Coulson. Natasha gives Bucky some space by disappearing during certain hours of the day; Barton is always nowhere to be found during these times, too. He doesn’t see Banner much and Thor has gone away to Jane again, which leaves Sam. Bucky doesn’t know what Sam gets up to when they aren’t watching television together.

His own time is spent doing very mundane activities, like knitting or listening to music or reading. He knows he should be out there doing something productive, like burning down every HYDRA base he can find, but his instincts tell him to wait for information. Besides, he knows attacking anything less than the head guys at this point would continue to be pointless.

He dreams of blood on blond hair and ringing in his ears, the fear and pain of losing the most important part of his life smothering him. He wakes up gasping and yelling for Steve. It takes a long time for him to go back to sleep and when he does it’s with his cheek pressed against a damp pillow.

__________________________________________

He flinches awake when Natasha’s hand touches his arm. The room is still dark, but there’s a light coming from the hallway and it’s enough to be able make out her features. He notices that she’s wearing her Black Widow uniform.

“Come on,” she says. “We can pin him if we leave now.”

He throws the uniform on and meets with the rest of the exhausted people outside. Sam takes to the night sky to fetch a car parked miles away; driving it back to pick them all up so they can head towards the hangar Hill had been keeping the jet in.

Bucky asks where Faustus is once they hit the skies. Wanda and Vision’s information places him in Berlin, apparently without Strucker. But he’s not alone; he’s got another army of mind-controlled agents to protect him.

When Bucky lays eyes on the man who’s caused him so much grief, he can’t stop himself. He’s nearly unstoppable, between the metal arm and the shield, as he cuts through the agents in his path to get to a fleeing target. He pauses for a brief moment to look back at the team, to make sure they’re holding up. Seeing them at work is something amazing, but he’s got more important things to do.

He chases after Faustus, catching up to him almost instantly. The shield gets flung low, aimed at the man’s legs, and it cuts into the back of his calves, making him shriek in pain as he falls.

Bucky shows no mercy.

He ignores the blood when he rips the shield out, dropping it to the floor with a clang so he can yank the man up by his collar. Faustus is babbling, trying to reach for something in his pocket, but the Soldier grabs his arm and twists while forcing the man to stare into his eyes, daring him to see all the horrors, all the pain that he’s caused. The Soldier grabs the other arm, ready to crush the bones –

He stops.

He’s not the Soldier. Right now, in this uniform, he’s supposed to be Captain America. He’s supposed to honor Steve and here he is, reverting into a cold killing machine.

He drops the sobbing man to the floor and steps back, nearly tripping over the shield. It’s another sickening reminder.

“He’s losing a lot of blood,” Bucky says thickly over the com. “Can someone get him out?”

He doesn’t trust himself to escort Faustus out of the building alive.

“I’ve got someone,” Natasha assures him. “Stay calm.”

Bucky tries. Gripping the shield tight in his hands helps anchor him.

He does his best to ignore Faustus until Thor comes to drag him away, Bucky trailing behind. He watches Sam patch the guy up amongst all of the unconscious bodies in the room. The sight only serves to make the man even more hysterical. Bucky thinks that he’s the kind of guy who will tell them where Strucker is, but they need to get rid of him for now and instead of Natasha calling for Coulson, she contacts Sharon.

All he knows is that he’d be relieved if she got her revenge on the creep.

She does, in a way, by using his own device to force him into revealing everything he knows. It’s not as much as they’d been hoping for. He informs them that the weapon he developed to use on Captain America was created by a scepter under Strucker’s guide, as Vision and Tony had discussed. Bucky learns that the scepter’s magic is powered by the energy from the Tesseract, which the scepter runs on. The most important bit of information he gives them is the list of locations that Strucker bounces between.

 It’s enough for Bucky. It has to be.

And it is, until hours later when Bucky’s too tense and distracted to knit. Sharon calls with vague and confusing news.

“Faustus keeps saying that the gun wasn’t designed to kill,” she tells them slowly, trying still to understand it. “He claims it was designed to transport Steve’s consciousness away from his body.”

Tony breathes as if it’s been punched out of him. “Say again?”

Bucky doesn’t understand. With the way Natasha’s looking at him, he thinks it’s better that way.

__________________________________________

He’s pushed out of the lab by Sam so Tony and Natasha can speak to Sharon over the phone in private. He wants to know what they’re talking about and why he can’t listen in when it involves _Steve_.

“I dunno, man,” Sam tells him slowly, a bruise blooming on his cheek. “Let ‘em figure it out.”

Bucky throws the helmet and the shield onto the broken bed, yanking off the glove and letting it fall to the floor. They had been talking about Steve’s body and his consciousness, and not _kill_ just _transport_ , and what?

He doesn’t know what to think, so he doesn’t; he pulls on his jeans and grabs a sweatshirt that’s just a little too big to be his and heads out into the night, ignoring the eyes of anyone who had been standing around. But he doesn’t stray far, sticking to the field to look up at the stars, trying to think of Thor and his stories rather than what was going on inside the lab. It doesn’t work.

Some Captain America he is, he thinks, if he can’t even get this team to tell him what’s happening.

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, relishing the cool air rushing into his lungs and caressing his face. He counts the seconds that pass because it’s the safest thing his mind can do at the moment.

Three thousand six hundred and eighty-five seconds.

He’s on the grass with his hood up and his head cushioned against his hands when Barton finds him.

“Strucker’s back on the grid,” he says. “We probably don’t have long before he figures it out.”

Bucky doesn’t care about Strucker right now. “What about Faustus?”

“What about him?”

Bucky turns himself over and onto his elbows, looking up at Barton from underneath his hood. “The gun? Steve? What’re they talking about?”

Barton’s face gives nothing away. It’s why Bucky can tell he knows something.

“If it was Natasha,” he says quietly, looking away despite himself, “I’d tell you.”

Barton’s voice is purely curious when he says, “What makes you think I’d ask?”

Bucky realizes Barton was probably too out of it to notice someone else was around when he was having his private moment with Natasha that day the robots attacked. Bucky sighs deeply and looks towards him again.

“We all have our weaknesses, right?”

That, at least, gets Barton’s expression to twitch.

He stares, calculating, eyes narrowed in thought, and then he tells Bucky to follow him.

The only people in the lab are Natasha and Tony, and both are silent when Barton and Bucky reenter. Natasha does not look happy.

“Just tell him what we know.”

“It’s not a good idea right now, Clint.”

Bucky demands to know why.

“Bucky,” Natasha warns, head tilted to the side and arms folded to her chest. He can imagine the look on his face is one of stubborn determination. She purses her lips and internally debates her course of action.

Tony leaves the room without saying a word. It seems to sway her decision.

“Faustus claims Strucker wanted Steve out of the way, but insisted he couldn’t be killed, or whatever he wanted to do with the body wouldn’t work.”

Bucky stares at her. There’s a lump in his throat he can’t seem to swallow down.

Couldn’t be killed? So, Steve…?

“And what does _that_ mean?”

Barton moves forward until he’s in front of Bucky and closer to Natasha, mirroring her stance. “If he’s telling the truth, then Cap’s alive. His mind’s just… somewhere else.”

Bucky shakes his head, which does nothing to help stop the room from spinning. “No. No, he –” Bucky was there, he saw the blood, felt it on his face and hands, cleaned it off of Steve’s lifeless body.

Natasha’s expression is pinched. “We don’t know anything else. Strucker didn’t tell Faustus everything.”

They want Steve gone out of his own body so they could…what? That’s the question and Strucker has the answer.

What the hell is wrong with the world?

__________________________________________

It’s not Bucky’s brightest idea, but he’s tired of beating around the bush.

They head to a hotel in Steyr, Austria, deciding to watch and wait for Strucker to leave before attacking, and after nearly five hours of surveillance, Bucky’s lost his patience.

He goes out into the night without the shield and helmet, a jacket tight over his uniformed torso. He had just planned on getting some air and stretching his legs, but ends up circling back to the hotel in no time when the thought of _Steve might be alive_ possesses his mind. If Steve could walk across enemy lines alone and storm a HYDRA base just because there was a _chance_ that Bucky could be alive… well, Bucky would do anything to get Steve back if there was even a one percent chance of being able to.

It’s with that mindset that he goes around the back of the building, scales the wall, and breaks his way into one of the higher floors so as not to be seen by Barton. He doesn’t know what room Strucker’s in, but there’s got to be a way to find out.

Bucky knocks out everyone in the security room with ease and heads towards the wall of computers, wishing he had studied up on modern technology. Finding the surveillance footage and figuring out how to rewind it back to the previous day, when Strucker first checked in, takes longer than he’d like it to.

He watches each screen with his face scrunched in concentration. The video gets paused when Strucker (and he knows it's him, recognizes the face from Lukin's videocall), accompanied by two women, enters a room. Bucky rewinds it one more time to catch the room number, steals an access card from one of the guards, and starts towards his destination.

 “ _Captain_ ,” Natasha hisses over the com. He’d turned it off earlier but she must’ve found a way to get him back online. “Don’t do this, Bucky,” she tells him, low and quiet in his ear.

“Steve’s alive.”

“We don’t know for –”

“He _is_ ,” Bucky insists, because now he can’t keep himself from thinking it. “I don’t know what Strucker did to him, but I’m gonna find out. We can get him back.”

Natasha lets her sigh linger, just to irritate him. “Wait for backup.”

“You can send it, but I’m not waiting.”

He shuts off the com again when she starts cursing at him in Russian.

Bucky picks the lock and draws his gun just before he ducks into the room. He catches sight of Strucker by the window and two women on opposite sides of the room, both with guns trained on him.

“The Winter Soldier,” Strucker says, his voice accented and calm. He turns to set his hard gaze on Bucky. “But you aren’t the Winter Soldier anymore.”

Bucky clenches his jaw. “Why do you need Captain America’s body?”

“Oh, I don’t need _your_ body,” Strucker says mockingly, nodding down towards the star peeking out from Bucky’s chest. “Captain America now, isn’t it? Red on your shoulder, white on your chest… You can’t be both, Puppe.”

Bucky feels strange and far too emotional. He has to force himself to think clearly. Something in the room could be messing with his mind…“What do you want Steve for?” Bucky’s voice is hoarse.

“I don’t want your American friend,” he nearly spits out. “I need his body for someone far greater.”

“Who?” Bucky chokes. He feels sweaty and tired and his arm can’t stay up to aim the gun anymore. “Where’s Steve?”

Strucker turns around to stare through the window again. He hums.

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine.”

Bucky bites down on his tongue, trying to will away the sudden compulsion to obey. He knows Strucker must have technology from Faustus in the room. Coming in without backup was a stupid idea.

“Where is the body of Captain Rogers buried?”

Bucky tries hard not to answer, but the words slip out of his mouth. “It’s not.”

“Then where is he being held?”

Bucky’s fists clench.

“Where?” Strucker prompts.

“Agent –” He grunts, trying to focus. “Coulson.”

“SHIELD…” Strucker whispers to himself, or maybe to the women in the room. “And where is Agent Coulson?”

If he hadn’t turned off that damn com –

He lets out an angry sound, refusing the pull Strucker’s got on him.

“Put the gun to your head and pull the trigger. You’re useless now.”

Bucky’s got the gun up before he can even blink, but his finger freezes on the trigger. _No_ , he hears inside his head; it’s an echo of voices – of Steve and Natasha and Sam and Tony and Thor and Banner and Barton and, finally, _himself_. He’s had far worse than some old hack’s mind-control device and somehow he’s coming back, slowly but surely. He won’t let anyone take his autonomy again.

“ _No_!” Bucky shouts, and then he shoots; once, twice – the women with the guns go down. He can feel the sting of a bullet piercing flesh but it’s nothing to him in this moment.

Then he’s running towards Strucker, who had spun around in surprise, and they’re crashing through the window and falling through the air, and Bucky is so stupid but Steve makes him that way and he _needs those answers_.

He grabs onto Strucker, flesh fingers curling around the belt of his pants, and holds his metal hand splayed out in front. He regrets not bringing the shield.

They weren’t too far up but the sudden hit of his extended metal appendage against a car (which smashes underneath them) is jarring and painful. Strucker took more of a hit than Bucky had intended, but he’s still breathing so Bucky doesn’t give a shit.

He rolls over atop the car and cringes when glass slices against his neck.

“Bucky!”

He can see Sam running his way. “Told you Steve was a shit role model,” he groans once Sam gets close enough. And then, for some reason, his body decides to betray him, forcing him to lean over and empty his stomach onto the street. His gagging barely drowns out Sam’s profanities.

__________________________________________

Natasha socks him in the jaw when he gets in her line of sight. He knows he deserves it.

He’s got a few cuts and bruises from his landing, as well as a bullet wound and a malfunctioning arm. He has to pull the torso of the uniform off his body so Sam can patch him up while Tony rips plates off his arm to reconfigure the wires, insisting as he goes that he needs to study the prosthetic in more detail if there are to be future misadventures.

“There were two others in there,” he tells them, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I dunno know if they’re dead, but they know Steve’s with Coulson and they know Coulson’s SHIELD, so you better send out a warning.”

He takes a long breath and lets his head loll back. “He said he needed the body for someone else,” he whispers after a moment where nothing but the soft sounds of the jet can be heard. “I don’t know what that means.”

Barton puts a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It’s a welcomed gesture.

When they pull Strucker into the underground SHIELD bunker, they’re met with Coulson, Melinda May, Sharon, and Fury. Bucky is immediately uncomfortable in his presence, probably because he nearly succeeded in killing the former Director.

“You’re gonna get your dumbass killed,” Fury tells him, and there’s nothing mild about the man or his tone.

“Haven’t yet,” Bucky replies, and really – that should be his life’s motto.

Fury shakes his head. “Romanoff,” he calls. “What the hell is going on?”

__________________________________________

Steve’s body is on ice again and the sight makes Bucky short of breath. He tries to inhale deeply and presses his hand against the clear chamber, staring at his friend, eyes roaming over still features. It’s so easy to think Steve’s just sleeping, but the wound on his head is proof that –

Bucky pauses, his mournful expression turning confused. The wound isn’t there, is gone like it had never existed. No scarring – nothing.

He looks away in thought, trying to process everything. Faustus had created a weapon with a scepter that used magic and energy from the Tesseract. He had said it was used to transport Steve’s consciousness away from his body, which had no heartbeat and no mind, no one to control it… yet. So it was just a shell and Steve had to be out there, somewhere.

Bucky can’t even comprehend how it’s all possible, it sounds so much like some old science fiction novel, but if he’s learned anything it’s that nothing is impossible in his life.

He swallows. If Steve’s out there, even just his mind, he can be found, and Bucky _will_ find him. He’ll just need some help.

“Where’s Wanda?” he asks Coulson when he comes across the man in his search.

Coulson stays stoic as he observes him for a long moment before deciding to lead him to his destination.

Wanda’s sitting on the floor with her legs crossed and her head tilted, staring into the red mist she’s controlling with her hands. Not too far from her is Pietro, who watches them with suspicious eyes. Bucky pays no attention to him and heads straight to Wanda, keeping his movements slow as he crouches down in front of her. She doesn’t look at him.

“You find people,” he starts quietly, moving his eyes away from her lax expression to watch the shapes she creates. He knows she must see something he can’t, so he looks back to her and asks, pleadingly, “Can you find Steven Grant Rogers?”

She spares him a glance then and though her expression is blank, Bucky can imagine all that’s going through her mind. Then she closes her eyes and Bucky isn’t sure if he should beg or not.

“It takes a lot of energy,” her brother says from Bucky’s side suddenly, making him flinch. “You or them – what’s the difference if you both use her?”

“Well, for one, it’s a good cause. Trust me.” _The world is a better place with Steve in it_ , he doesn’t say; _I’m a better man with him around._ “And I wouldn’t force her to do it. Think of this as a favor.”

Pietro frowns at him. “So if we're ever in need, we can call on you?” He sounds as if he doesn’t believe it.

“You can,” Bucky tells him honestly. “If you help me get Steve back, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Pietro hums and then sits down beside his sister. Bucky notices the way he tries to quell his vibrations. He can’t imagine having strange abilities like theirs. The metal arm and knock-off serum are enough for him.

Bucky stays there for hours, waiting for Wanda to say something. Pietro flutters around the room but never strays far and Bucky eventually gets tired enough to curl up on the floor and close his eyes.

Steve’s beside him, a small smirk on his lips, looking like he knows something Bucky doesn’t.

The illusion shatters when he opens his eyes, leaving him with nothing but exhaustion and disappointment.

“I can feel –”

Bucky scrambles into a sitting position at the sound of her voice. Her eyes are still closed but her brows are furrowed and she’s frowning.

“There’s something… frozen. I can project my energy through the Universe. It’s hard to notice, but I feel the disruption.”

“Can you, I dunno, talk to him? Is he okay?”

“I can’t reach him.”

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair. Whatever Wanda can feel, it has to be Steve. He’s so close, he just…

He licks his bottom lip in thought. Universe.

Space, he thinks.  _Thor_.

__________________________________________

Thor is mystified when Bucky explains to the best of his ability what Wanda had told him.

“My brother had been lost once,” he tells Bucky. “We do not yet know a way to search a place so vast.”

Bucky slams his fist into the wall. He’s not angry at Thor – or anyone in particular (except maybe Faustus and Strucker). He’s just so frustrated.

Thor’s heavy hand draws Bucky back, encouraging him to calm down.

“I could ask my father,” Thor decides. Bucky doesn’t refuse the offer, but he does feel sorry for involving Thor in his messy life yet again.

“Hey,” he says when Thor begins to leave. “What you’ve done for me…” He shuts his eyes and rubs at his forehead, aggravated with his struggle of voicing his appreciation. Thor's smile is understanding.

“I have learned loyalty from my brothers and sisters on Asgard, and from my friends here on Earth. It is a trait of love in all forms. If I can help you find Steve, I will.”

All Bucky can do is nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this time i won't forget // kongos
> 
> This chapter was actually two separate chapters, but they were too short so I just put them together. But that now means I'm out of already written chapters and must hurry to get some more ready to go. At least I've already started working on chapter 20.
> 
> Anyway, Cap!Bucky! I know it's kind of skimmed over, but I didn't want to make a huge deal out of it. My justification is that Steve would've been trying to stay out of the public after the whole DC thing and Bucky's sticking to gunning for the HYDRA big shots anyway, so no one even knows the difference. 
> 
> I'm just gonna go ahead and tell you that Steve will be back in the next chapter. I wanted to try and draw it out more, but things just didn't seem right without Steve around and I couldn't make the situation last. 
> 
> I feel kind of cheap, bringing the Tesseract back in again, but I think it's the solution that fits better here. That thing is like the bane of Steve's existence.


	20. you are calm and reposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s bombarded with hugs and friendly shoulder pats when he gets back to the safe house. Everyone wants to know what he remembers. Steve explains that he remembers Bucky talking to him and Barton asking if he should take a shot, but that’s it.
> 
> “We thought you died,” Sam tells him, and he might just be the only one who would never keep anything from Steve.
> 
> “You have to be the most durable 96 year old in the world,” Tony quips, eager to get things back to the way they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tonight we drink to youth  
> and holding fast to truth  
> I don't want to lose what I had as a boy  
> My heart still has a beat  
> but love is now a feat  
> as common as a cold day in LA  
> Sometimes when I'm alone, I wonder  
> Is there a spell that I am under  
> keeping me from seeing the real thing"

"You sent Thor back to Asgard?”

Natasha doesn’t really sound angry. Resigned would be the better word.

Bucky tries to concentrate on the scarf so as not to screw it up. If it turns out ugly, he’ll tell Sam it was Natasha’s fault.

“I didn’t send him anywhere. He thought maybe he could help.”

“Help with what? Finding someone who’s not even in their body?”

Bucky rolls his shoulders and continues on, but he knows any attempt to ignore her will be in vain.

“If he turns out to be dead, will you accept that? Or will you always be this crazy?”

Bucky drops his knitting and shifts on the couch to face her, his expression disbelieving. “You wouldn’t try anything to save someone you cared about? Come on, Natasha.”

Her gaze is heavy and reproachful. “Not everything can work out the way you want it to.”

He laughs at that, the sound dull and sad. “ _Nothing’s_ worked out the way I wanted. I gotta think this will.”

“And what if something like this happens again?” she questions. “Real bullets aren’t hard to come by and sometimes bad things just happen.”

Bucky runs his fingers through the hair falling limp against his forehead in an attempt to push it back into place. He stands and turns to move, ready to leave this conversation behind, but stops when Natasha continues. “It’s easy to die for someone,” she tells him. “The hardest part is living. You’re showing me you can’t without him.”

“What do you want me to do?” he practically yells, holding his arms out wide. He knows they all want to get Steve back, so why is it different for him? 

“Nothing.” There’s a tinge of vulnerability in her voice when she says, “I just don’t wanna see you lose yourself.”

It shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. Somewhere along the way he and Natasha have formed a real friendship and he hasn't been this close to anyone other than Steve. She cares about him and damn, he cares about her, too. Bucky wishes he could truly remember the time he had known her before, when he wasn’t himself. Those memories don't seem to exist, but she had to have been a dim light in his darkness. Maybe it’ll come back someday, but this, now, is all he really wants.

With his temper deflated, he smiles softly, small and closed-lip.

“And I would,” she tells him. “For Barton or Rogers or you. Maybe even Stark.” Her smile mirrors his. “I’d do what I could.”

__________________________________________

Thor doesn’t return from Asgard for several days and in that time Bucky has had to talk himself out of paying Strucker a visit for answers more than a handful of times. The mind-control device hadn’t worked on him as it did on Faustus; Strucker probably had something implanted so the tech couldn’t reach his brain. Whoever he wants to give Steve’s body to, it’s a big deal.

He finishes his scarf for Sam during the wait. It’s Captain America inspired, as requested, and Sam is quiet when Bucky hands it over. He stares at it for a long moment before smiling and giving his thanks, both verbally and with a pat on the shoulder. Bucky starts his second attempt on making fingerless gloves. If he can finish them, they’ll be for Natasha.

Pepper had arrived the previous day to force Tony back into a healthy lifestyle despite his insistence that it wasn’t safe at their safe house. She addressed him as Sergeant Barnes, though she made sure to ask if preferred Captain (he doesn’t), and told him she hopes they can get Steve back to normal – as if being out of his body was just _abnormal_. He makes sure to tell Tony that Pepper is a real great gal. Tony’s smile is genuine and something to appreciate.

Bucky likes spending time in the lab with Tony, surprisingly. It’s quiet in there most of the time, aside from his tinkering and occasional chatter to JARVIS. He plays music sometimes, too, which Bucky can just sit and enjoy, forgetting all of his worries for a moment. He turns away when Pepper comes in, offering snacks or just generally making sure Tony is alright, even if she doesn’t say as much. Bucky thinks it means a lot that they don’t mind sharing private moments in front of him.

“Why isn’t Phil answering his phone?” Pepper asks when she comes into the lab for the third time that morning.

Tony continues to stare at the blueprints of Bucky’s arm he’d drawn up. “Could have something to do with all the HYDRA strays he’s taken in. Or the World Security Council breathing down his neck.”

Pepper sighs and opens her mouth to reply when JARVIS cuts in.

“You have an incoming call, sir. I believe it is from Thor.”

“Pass it over to Buck Rogers, would you?”

Bucky’s glare goes largely unnoticed.

Thor tells him that Darcy, a friend of Jane, has entrusted him with a cell phone. But the real reason he’s calling is to ask for help finding the invisible safe house. For that, Bucky has to hand it back over to JARVIS.

When Thor arrives, it’s with an odd capsule-like contraption and a downtrodden expression.

“My father would not see me,” he explains when Bucky asks him what’s wrong. He holds up the capsule then. “But I’ve brought you the Tesseract. Use it quickly. Its absence is not known.”

Bucky takes the capsule and stares at the glowing cube inside, feeling uneasy. “What am I s'posed to do?” He doesn’t know how to harness the power of the Tesseract, doesn’t know how to make it find Steve and put him back in his body.

Thor doesn’t know either.

He’ll just have to wing it.

__________________________________________

He’s already wearing his Captain America uniform, after having gone with Natasha to retrieve information at Fury’s request earlier in the day, but he has to backtrack to grab the shield before heading out.

Natasha meets them at the door with the capsule in her hands, silently letting them know that she’s coming along, so Bucky grabs her around the middle the same way Thor grabs him, and then they shoot into the sky with lightning striking beside them.

Coulson is surprised to see them, though after explaining that they think they may be able to put Steve back in his body, he ushers them forward with strong encouragement.

The shield’s dropped in the hallway of the long corridor so Bucky can pull Steve out of the chamber and set him gently on the ground. He drops down as he does it, cradling Steve’s head in his lap. It's not unlike the day this whole mess started. He can hear Natasha and Thor opening the capsule from behind, can see the glow of the light without turning to look at it. He remembers that Steve said the cube had made someone disappear, but it doesn't deter him. His intentions, while not purely selfless, are good and this a risk he’s more than willing to take. He does, however, need a deep breath to steady himself.

Everything they do seems to happen to the other, he thinks briefly. Bucky goes to war, Steve goes to war; Steve gets experimented on, Bucky gets experimented on; Bucky falls, Steve crashes, but somehow they’re both still alive. Steve risks his life to get Bucky’s memories back and now Bucky’s risking his to get _Steve_ back. It might just be like this forever. He can stand it as long as they stick together.

 _Here goes_.

Bucky grabs the cube with metal fingers and holds it in his palm. There’s no pain, only a slight tingle, and his focus is purely on _find Steve and bring him back_.

The low ceiling of the bunker suddenly opens and the beauty of the universe shows itself. Black and ink blue, full of bright lights and colorful clouds and surges of glowing energy resembling electricity; the cosmos is captivating and Bucky stares at the limitlessness in awe.

There’s something like fire zooming in the distance, a red beam, but Bucky’s attention is drawn elsewhere, to something far more magnificent. There’s a soft, smoky orb, the color of eyes he’s known for so long drifting closer.

The orb descends upon them, wandering, floating in front of Bucky’s face, and the light becomes so bright that he has to shut his eyes and turn his head away.

The overbearing silence ends after, replaced by a more natural quiet, and the lights dim until he can see darkness behind his eyelids once more. When he blinks, he catches sight of Natasha wearing an expression of unrepressed shock, and then of Thor, who looks at peace with it all.

A rush of a breath releasing from the previously inactive body below snaps Bucky’s attention back down to Steve. His eyes are open, blue and bright, and he’s staring at Bucky as if he’s the only thing Steve’s ever known.

The swell of relief in his chest is beyond anything Bucky has ever felt. The swell of something else is even more powerful.

Steve’s eyes dart over the features in front of him, his brows pulled down and his lips parted. Bucky stares right back, found by Steve and then lost again, only in the best way possible. 

 “Bucky?” 

“Yeah.” He smiles and nods alongside his words. “Yeah, Steve.”

“You cut your hair.” Steve sounds a little groggy, but otherwise fine. Bucky smiles wide at that, maybe even a little adoringly. “What happened?”

He spares a glance back at Natasha, only to see her lips turned up at the corner, expression soft and relieved. “What do you remember?”

Steve licks his lips and sets his palms against the ground, trying to lift himself up. “You were telling me something and –” His eyes flicker down to Bucky’s chest. Bucky doesn’t have to follow his gaze to know what Steve’s looking at. “You’re wearing my suit.”

Bucky feels a little stupid, sort of embarrassed too, but his smile doesn’t fade. “It’s a knock off, don’t worry.”

“I won’t,” Steve assures him. His eyes roam over Bucky’s chest once more before they dart back up to his face. “It’s a good look for you.”

Bucky laughs and leans back enough to give Steve some space. “Thanks, pal, but I think it’s more your style.”

“But what happened? How long have I been out?”

He scratches at the back of his head, reluctant to speak of the recent events. His answer is simply, “A few weeks.”

Steve looks like a lost puppy. “Why?”

“Long story.”

“We don’t have all the details,” Natasha adds, causing Steve to turn just enough to look. “Welcome back.”

He makes a noise. “Wish I knew why I was gone in the first place.”

Bucky settles his hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezes, pulling him forward just slightly, stealing his attention. “We’ll explain it,” he promises. “Just – tell me you’re okay.”

The look Steve gives him is one of confusion, but he obliges. “I’m fine, Bucky. I mean it.”

Bucky leans forward then, to wrap his arms tight around Steve’s torso, tugging to settle the bigger body against his chest. Steve hugs him right back without even a second of hesitation, presses his face right into the side of Bucky’s neck, so Bucky pulls him closer and even goes as far as nuzzling into Steve’s soft hair. If Bucky holds him for longer than he should, no one mentions it.

__________________________________________

Steve’s bombarded with hugs and friendly shoulder pats when he gets back to the safe house. Everyone wants to know what he remembers. Steve explains that he remembers Bucky talking to him and Barton asking if he should take a shot, but that’s it.

“We thought you died,” Sam tells him, and he might just be the only one who would never keep anything from Steve.

“You have to be the most durable 96 year old in the world,” Tony quips, eager to get things back to the way they were.

But Steve’s smiles aren’t as genuine as he’s trying to make them and when he reassures everyone that, “Guys, I’m _fine_ ,” Bucky thinks he might be lying just a little bit.

Other than the initial hug, Bucky had decided to keep his distance until everything and everyone calmed down. He figured it would be during the night, before they fell asleep (he’d have to explain the broken bed), that they’d talk.

But Steve had no plans to sleep.

It’s best to give him space, Bucky thinks. Let Steve process the fact that he’d missed out on weeks of living, let him understand that all his friends mourned him and thought him dead – _again_.

It takes a few hours of tossing and turning in the dark for Bucky to understand Steve’s dilemma and then task himself with helping because Steve is terrible at dealing with his own problems. And Bucky trying to help others when he could barely function like a human not that long ago could be funny, in a dark sort of way, if it wasn't so important.

The safe house doesn’t really have anywhere to hide, other than the lab which is almost always occupied by Tony, so finding Steve is easy, especially considering he’s sitting behind the couch in the living room with his legs sprawled out, perfectly viewable from the hallway. Bucky is barefoot and wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants while Steve is still completely dressed in the uniform he had been shot and then frozen in weeks ago. He doesn’t look up when he hears Bucky coming, but he does shift a little, absently trying to guard himself. It makes Bucky purse his lips.

“You okay, Stevie?” he asks quietly, keeping a few feet in between them. It feels like a role reversal.

“Yeah. Just not tired,” Steve tries to explain. He doesn’t even look at Bucky when he says it though, like he knows the lie is weak and isn’t about to pretend otherwise.

“Slept enough, huh?” Steve’s lips quirk for the briefest of seconds. Bucky wants to sigh. “What’s really goin’ on?”

Bucky watches the way Steve stares ahead, the way he tilts his head back to rest it against the couch. He looks void in this moment. The need to protect and comfort Steve will always be inside him, so he pushes forward and sits himself down beside his friend, their thighs and arms pressed together.

Steve stares down at his lap, at his hands, as if checking that he's real. “If I go to sleep, I might not wake up,” he says to Bucky, like a confession. “I can’t keep losing time.”

“You won't. I promise.” And he really shouldn’t be making promises, but he’s pretty damn confident he can keep this one. He'll make sure nothing so terrible ever happens to Steve again.

Steve turns to look at him, his smile a beacon in the dark. Bucky has to swallow the words that want to escape. 

“What made you put on the suit?”

He sighs. “Sam and Natasha. They thought it’d be a way to honor you.”

Steve bumps his shoulder against Bucky’s and doesn’t pull away. “You could keep it,” he suggests. “No one said there can’t be two Captain America’s.”

Bucky huffs. The thought is touching. “No thanks. Stark says he’s got a suit for me anyway.”

And he’s not really Captain America material, though he doesn’t say that to Steve. Putting on that suit, carrying that shield – even with staying out of the public’s eye and keeping to discreet missions, the costume held a weight that Bucky would never want to carry, no matter if he could or not. It seems more like a burden, one that Steve handles beautifully, and he’s content to let it stay that way.

Bucky’s still trying to process the fact that he lost Steve and then got him back in the span of a few weeks. But here they are, sitting in silence, able to hear each other breathing, and it can all be right again – or, at least, as right as it had been. He just needs to make sure Steve’s alright.

“It was hell.” Even in the dark, he doesn’t look towards Steve when he speaks words that feel too private. “I missed you.”

Bucky senses Steve's eyes on him. “I didn’t know that,” he says, in a voice that's too innocent to be honest. Bucky makes a face and throws his hand out to smack against Steve, who’s careful about not laughing too loudly. But he’s genuine when he says, “Thank you, Buck.”

“Yeah, yeah. Smartass.” He has to laugh though, because Steve is still Steve and he’s here, safe, and Bucky’s okay too. He slings his arm around Steve’s shoulder in an old, familiar gesture, pulling him into his side, and Steve lets himself be handled as if he were small again.

He should tell him. He should tell him right now. It could be so easy, if he let it. 

He squeezes Steve’s shoulders and smiles - and then he stands.

“Sleepy?” Steve inquires.

“Yeah,” Bucky lies. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he says, because he knows Steve isn’t going to get any sleep tonight. Bucky might not either.

He’s just about to disappear into the hallway when Steve whispers loudly to him, “Buck.” There’s a short pause. “Before I got shot, what were you saying?”

Bucky has to force himself not to turn around and head back over. It’s like Steve knows Bucky needs the perfect opening and it isn't fair. He takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes and opens his mouth and –

“It wasn’t important.”

Steve would probably accept a lie over the truth anyway.

__________________________________________

“Hey, Barnes!” Bucky startles awake so quickly that he hears his own snore. “Breakfast!” Sam shouts from behind the door. “Hurry if you wanna eat!”

Bucky exits the room and rubs at his blurry eyes, listening to the chatter that becomes louder the closer he gets. There’s clatter of plates and clinking of silverware and groggy voices arguing good naturedly.

“I’m just saying that this is my kitchen and I should get the last biscuit.”

“Sam’ll make more,” Natasha tells Tony, and then there’s a sound of someone being smacked and an exclamation of pain.

“We’re outta Bisquick .”

“Stark can get some,” Barton says mid-chew.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.”

When Bucky rounds the corner finally, he takes in the scene before him. The kitchen counters are full of dirty pans and plates of eggs and potatoes and bacon. There’s orange juice and coffee and bowls of sliced fruit, and no biscuits to be seen.

Tony’s sitting next to Banner, who he hasn’t seen in days. Next to him is Thor. Barton is in between Sam and Natasha, but on her other side is Steve, who’s observant eyes are on Bucky as if he were considering something new and interesting. Bucky nearly stops in his tracks before he realizes there are other people watching him.

“Help yourself,” Sam encourages. So he steps forward and grabs the plate that Steve holds out for him, making eye contact for only a second before he’s going for the scrambled eggs. He doesn’t feel bad about taking as much as he wants.

They eat with various conversations circulating the table. Tony mentions that he’ll probably start having the Tower rebuilt, since that’s where he had been staying after having his real home completely destroyed. That leads Sam into talking about actually planning his vacation now that they’ve done everything they’ve set out to do. He offers to take Steve and Bucky along, who both decline. It’s Barton that decides he’ll take the trip with him. Tony’s bird jokes come out in full force.

Bucky asks Thor about his visit to Asgard and is told that all went well, except he worries for his father. Then he voices his joy over seeing Steve returned to them and assures him that the Tesseract is safely locked away.  

Bucky thinks that eating breakfast with this strange group of people in an invisible house with Steve smiling by his side is one of the best things he’s ever experienced.

He would die for everyone here. He’d live for them, too. And he will.

__________________________________________

“Did you say something to Steve?” Bucky demands with suspicious eyes when he comes across Natasha in the hallway later that evening. She’s dressed casually, probably on her way out.

“About what?” She’s not as uninterested as she tries to sound.

His expression clearly shows that he’s not playing games.

“I didn’t say anything, okay? Don’t have a heart attack.”

Bucky thinks she’s probably joking about his age, so he ignores her. “Did you hint at it?”

“Hint at what?” Her tone conveys all the innocence she doesn’t possess.

“Don’t be cute.”

She smirks and tilts her head down, looking up at him through her lashes. “You think I’m cute?”

“Knock it off, Natasha.”

She laughs at him, low and irritating despite how nice it sounds. “I didn’t say anything about your horribly repressed feelings.” She slips past him, digging her phone out of her pocket when it beeps. “Why?”

How does he explain that Steve had a certain knowing look without sounding like a complete idiot?

He decides that he can't, and he was probably just imagining it anyway.

Natasha rolls her eyes and pats him on the shoulder when she realizes he won’t be answering. He watches her leave, wondering where she’s headed and if Barton’s going with her. Probably.

The uniform is still on the floor where he’d left it the night before. But unlike previously, Steve is present, and he’s eyeing the broken bed and the shattered lamp and the hole in the wall with hands set firmly on his hips.

Bucky goes about his business, takes his time picking up the uniform and putting it away, setting it atop the Soldier’s gear, blocking out one life with another. Neither identity is really his.

“You know, I think I’d take a soft bed over this.” Steve gestures to the lopsided mattress and broken frame.

It doesn’t escape Bucky that Steve’s attempting to deal with his fear before it turns into a problem. He’s proud of him, for that and so many other things.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. And then he has an impulsive, risky thought that he has to voice. “We can put the couch cushions on the floor.”

Steve’s smile is broad and contagious.

They steal all the cushions from the living room and haul them back to their bedroom quietly, kicking the door shut behind them. The room is nearly all black. They can barely see and keep bumping into each other as they rearrange the cushions to be long and wide enough for two grown men.

They settle down after a while, murmuring at each other to _scoot over_ or _move your foot_. Steve pulls a blanket from the crumpled mattress and goes to drape it over them, but Bucky stops him.

“It’s cold,” Steve explains. For an instant, Bucky sees a sparse room with a lumpy mattress and a small kid piled under scratchy blankets.

“JARVIS can turn up the heat.”

“No, it’s fine the way it is,” Steve insists. He keeps the blanket on himself but isn’t subtle about letting it pile up between them.

Bucky hasn’t slept under any covers since staying with Steve and the Avengers, doesn’t even really know what his aversion to it is. He finds it constricting and too warm, he supposes. Being around Steve can feel the same way. He’ll have to get over it sooner or later, he knows, so Bucky wiggles on the cushions until he can pull the blanket over himself, resting it under his elbow. It's more comfortable than he'd thought.

“We should go somewhere,” Steve decides, turning to lean on his side, looking down at Bucky. “You’d probably like Alaska.”

Bucky breathes a laugh. “Why? ‘Cause its cold?” He can feel Steve shrug. “What about Ireland?” Bucky suggests, without even really thinking. “Your parents were Irish.”

“We could go there. I’d probably get in trouble for trying to leave the country.”

Bucky laughs outright, not even stopping when Steve’s hand presses down against his mouth, like Tony or Sam might come storming in to say it’s past their bedtime. Once Steve pulls his hand away, Bucky whispers, “I don’t even have a legal passport.”

“Stark’ll make you one." He doesn't try to argue with Steve about forgery being illegal because he doesn't really care. "We can go next week. You’re not busy, are you?”

Bucky likes that they can joke around and talk, make plans for things that they know won’t ever happen, just like when they were kids trying to think of a forever where they could stay side-by-side, never knowing how their lives would truly turn out. He wants to imagine travelling the world with Steve, following him wherever he decided to go next. He wants to dream until reality lets them live it.

__________________________________________

“We’ve got a problem,” Natasha tells them the next morning. Steve looks up from his sketchpad and Bucky looks up from his knitting, and no one is really surprised – not until they hear what's wrong. “Strucker’s gone.”

“Coulson had him on lockdown. How’d he get out?” It took a lot of time and effort to get that man locked away and now he’s escaped? That’s not something Bucky wants to hear.

“Hill saw some red beam bust through the cell. Strucker killed the guard and took his weapon, and found a way out somehow.”

“Is Wanda looking?” Bucky asks. He doesn’t really like making her locate everyone they lose, but they need the help.

“She can’t find him. Hill didn’t see him grab anything to conceal his location, but Vision can’t locate him either. He’s in the wind.”

Bucky’s had it with this crap. He pushes his knitting to the side and stands, gripping at his hair in thought. He can hear Steve asking Natasha questions.

Red beam? He saw something red, behind the blue orb that slipped inside Steve’s body.

If that damn cube let something out… Well, nothing good comes without consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love hurts // incubus
> 
> I shouldn't be writing all through the night until early hours of the morning because all that gets typed out is crap. But it's now afternoon and I went back to rewrite certain things at least two times. Ugh. 
> 
> Steve's back! Is it too soon? Like I said, the story wouldn't let me drag it out.
> 
> Now I have to write the next chapter and that might end up meaning no posts for a couple of days. Sorry! But thank you so much for sticking around and liking this story and leaving all your support. I love hearing what you think. <3


	21. let your beauty unfold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have what you would call good news and bad news,” he says abruptly, startling Steve and Tony out of their debate. Bucky sits atop his stool a little straighter. “I have located the scepter, but only as a result of its sudden activity.”
> 
> Bucky hears Steve’s irritated 'dammit.' “Do you have a location now?”
> 
> “The scepter was active in Mannheim, Germany, 2 hours and 37 minutes ago. I can no longer place it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You are the hole in my head  
> You are the space in my bed  
> You are the silence in between  
> what I thought and what I said  
> You are the nighttime fear  
> You are the morning when it's clear  
> When it's over, you'll start  
> You're my head, you're my heart  
> No light, no light in your bright blue eyes  
> I never knew daylight could be so violent  
> A revelation in the light of day  
> You can't choose what stays and what fades away  
> And I'd do anything to make you stay  
> No light, no light  
> Tell me what you want me to say"

“Keep an ear out,” Steve had said once he’d gotten everyone together. “Strucker’s out there, but he’s without his allies. We can stop whatever he’s planning.”

Steve and his endless hope can make anyone feel like they can’t lose, but Bucky knows that  _just_  hope isn’t good enough.

Preparing for the unknown is difficult. Bucky tells them that he saw something like what Hill described when he used the Tesseract to bring Steve back. Steve is, predictably, very unhappy with that bit of news.

“You shouldn’t’ve brought it back here. I told you, Bucky.”

Bucky hates any form of I-told-you-so. He crosses his arms defensively. “There weren’t any other options.”

“Yes there were,” Steve argues. “You could’ve left things alone.”

“Leave you floating in space forever?” Bucky shouts, exasperated by Steve’s foolishness. “Fuck that, Steve. You know better.”

Steve scoffs like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Yeah, I do, and so does Thor.”

“Hey, he was just trying to help!”

“We don’t need any more aliens thinking we’re looking for a fight. If bringing me back means starting a war then you don’t take that risk. You never take that risk.”

“Oh,  _right,_ ” Bucky snaps, and he doesn’t even care that everyone is staring at them. “You risked a lot tryin' to save me, but when I do the same, it’s wrong?”

“I risked myself, Bucky. Not the safety of others. There’s a difference.”

It’s stupid and petty for him to be hurt by words, but he can’t help it. Words from Steve have always meant more than they should. “So you’re saying neither of us is worth any sort of trouble.”

Steve’s jaw is set with frustration or anger, or both. “No –”

“Maybe you forgot what it’s like to need or want someone now that you don’t have Peggy,” he interrupts heatedly, not thinking about controlling his words, “but I’ll tell you, it’s not fun.”

Bucky swears Steve looks almost surprised before his expression contorts in a way that shows he’s disappointed in Bucky, like he’s the one who doesn’t get it instead of the other way around. And Bucky’s disappointed in himself, anyway. He shouldn’t need people, shouldn’t want them, but he does and he can’t do anything about it. He’s only human, after all.

“Why aren’t we talking about the Tesseract anymore?” Tony asks in the background, not as quietly as he thinks. No one answers him.

“I didn’t forget,” Steve says intently. “I’ve  _always_  known what that’s like.”

They stare at each other, barely blinking, hardly aware of the others in the room. Steve’s taller and Bucky has a way of puffing up when he’s angry, but he’s deflated now, feeling like a jerk with the way Steve’s looking at him, trying not to show his pain – just like always. Natasha had told him what Steve said after their encounter on the bridge;  _even when I had nothing, I had Bucky_. How selfish can he be to disregard that just because he can’t let himself believe it?  

“I’m not sorry for doing what I had to.”

“I know,” Steve says. “I don’t want you to be.” He opens his mouth, as if he had more to say, but nothing else comes.

Bucky knows he’s always been right when it came to protecting Steve. He remembers a crumbling building with fire all around, suggesting death if they so much as took one wrong step. He’d made it across but Steve stayed in the distance, trapped, stupidly telling Bucky to go.  _No! Not without you!_ He remembers saying it, but he feels it, too; feels the anger and the fear and the adrenaline. He’s never going anywhere without Steve and Steve better not go anywhere else without Bucky or there’ll be hell to pay.

He inhales deeply through his nose and lets it out slowly, keeping his gaze on Steve. It feels like their whole lives have consisted of doing stupid things just to so they could follow the other. He’s not about to change that now.

Steve drops his gaze, turns away from Bucky, ignoring him, focusing on Tony and the mission instead. “What about that scepter? Do we know where it's at?”

__________________________________________

They have no way to locate Strucker, who’s on the run with something the Tesseract brought to Earth. Bucky can’t help feeling a little guilty about that, but Natasha is persistent with her reassurance that Bucky’s not at fault and Sam is optimistic that they can set everything right again. Tony just seems very fed-up and that, at least, Bucky can agree with.

His interactions with Steve aren’t plentiful for a few days, mostly because Bucky can’t watch the news for hours at a time. He understands that Steve’s trying to catch anything even the slightest bit suspicious since he can’t go out looking for trouble (because trouble  _will_  find him, they all know), but he wishes things weren’t so strained.

Bucky can tell that Steve’s not angry with him, which means Steve’s angry with himself. Bucky doesn’t try to make Steve smile like he wants to, like he used to (and he has to remind himself that the past is something to remember, not recreate). When he comes back from walking the city with Natasha to get some fresh air she insisted he needed, he sees Sam and Steve laughing on the floor in front of the couch, which is still without cushions, with the television changed from the news to cartoons for the first time in days. Sam can make Steve happy just fine and that’s both a source of relief and despair for Bucky.

“You could always join them,” Natasha whispers from behind, standing on her tip-toes to peer over his shoulder at the scene in front of them. He turns his head just enough to show his expression of distaste. “I think you’re allergic to happiness, Barnes.”

“You would know,” he counters, thinking of Natasha’s hesitance to tell Barton that she shares his feelings, even if he already knows. He can imagine that Barton would like verbal confirmation. 

She punches him in the shoulder for that and leaves him to sulk.

His way of sulking involves sprawling out onto the cushions and reading on Steve’s tablet. He doesn’t go for science fiction anymore; his life is already too set in that sort of thing. Instead, he gravitates towards his second favorite genre – hardboiled. He’ll take stories about crime and cynical detectives over aliens and time machines. At least the former feels like actual fiction these days.

Steve enters the room earlier than usual, a couple of hours before midnight instead of a couple past, and changes in the dark, bumping his knees into the dresser even though he knows exactly how wide it is by now.

“What’re you reading?” he asks once he plops down onto the cushions and pulls the blanket up to settle around his waist.

They’ve had only inconsequential conversations since their argument, which Bucky thought they’d already gotten over. Steve had said he didn’t want an apology for Bucky trying to save him, but Bucky doesn’t know what he  _does_  want – or if he wants anything at all. He tries not to think about it. Of course it doesn’t work.

“The Maltese Falcon,” he tells Steve. He doesn’t take his eyes off the text even though he’s no longer reading. “I remember some of it. Pretty good.”

Steve makes a noise that sounds vaguely interested. He asks a question, but it’s not about the book.

“What did you and Natasha do today?”

Bucky turns the tablet to shine the light on Steve, which makes him squint and reel back slightly. “Took a walk,” he tells him, and he can practically hear Steve’s brain rattling. “Why?”

“Just – I don’t think I ever said, but I’m glad you two get along. I mean, you get along with everyone, I’m just – you and Natasha are close and I’m glad… that you have someone.”

“Thanks?” Bucky’s expression no doubt conveys the confusion he feels. And – “Wait. What d’you mean by  _have someone_?” He has to ask because Steve is being awkward, like the way he gets when they’d used to talk about girls.

There’s a too-long pause before Steve questions back, “What  _should_  I mean?”

Bucky has to laugh, can’t stop himself. He’s got Natasha asking if he and Steve are more than friends and then Steve asking if he and Natasha are more than friends, and how has he gotten to this point? “If you’re asking about me and Natasha being more than friends, the answer’s no, buddy. I couldn’t handle her. And she’s got a thing with Barton – but you better keep your mouth shut about it.”

“I will,” Steve agrees swiftly, though he looks distracted. “But really? I mean, you two aren’t – and Barton? I figured they were… but some people are really casual about relationships these days and –”

Bucky has to stop him. “Did you give up watching cartoons with Sam just to come ask me that?”

“What? No!” Steve nearly shouts. His eyes are wide when he continues, in a lowered voice, “It’s not even my business. I just wanted you to know that we could talk about it, if you wanted.”

Bucky appreciates the sentiment, but Steve is way off base.

Instead of telling him who he’s really interested in (and just that thought makes his heart pound with fear and maybe even excitement), he decides to tell him something else. “I think I went back and forth between HYDRA and the Soviets. I remember training people… Natasha was Natalia then, and I know I knew her, but I can’t remember it.”

Bucky forgets about the bad things sometimes, there’s just so much else going on in his life now. But there are quiet moments where he can see the chair and the blackness, the blood and the kills and the ice. It’s not gone, but it’s sometimes forgotten. What once was his only life is now one of distant nightmares. He thinks he might just believe in miracles now.

But the bad things don’t always leave him. Trying to remember what’s not easily accessible can bring on periods of silence where he gets lost in himself. Luckily, those moments have been few and far between lately.

 “I think of her as family.”

“Okay. Good.” The light’s illuminating Steve’s face enough for Bucky to see his expression turn somewhat surprised. “I don’t mean  _good_  like it wouldn’t be if you were, you know, or even the three of you – ‘cause I heard that’s something that happens, but, um…” Bucky blinks at Steve, who’s cheeks look a little pinker in the bright light of the tablet. It’s – it’s _adorable_.

“I think you’ve been talking to Sam about the wrong things,” Bucky murmurs after a moment, turning the light away from Steve so as not to embarrass the man any further. He just hopes he doesn’t embarrass himself either.

Steve clears his throat. “There’re a lot of problems in the world. I like to hear about the good things.”

“Nothing good about the news.”

He shrugs, steering himself away from the conversation he started. “It could help us find Strucker. That seems pretty good to me.”

Bucky tries to get back to reading but even an unmoving, unspeaking Steve beside him is a distraction. He shuts the tablet off and drops it down next to the cushion, turning enough to stare at the window and the dull moonlight peeking through. Steve’s beside him and inside his head and it’s getting out of hand, but he can’t – _won’t_ – just say it. He doesn’t even know what _to_ say, feels like he blew it when Steve got shot.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles when Bucky’s close to unconsciousness. “I don’t blame you for anything. I was just frustrated.” Steve’s sigh makes him sound miserable. “Feels like everything I’ve done means nothing.”

He thinks of Thor’s story again. “You know Hercules, right? He cut off all the heads on that Hydra monster. If he can do it, so can you.”

Steve shakes his head at Bucky. His tone is fond when he says, “He had help.” Admittedly, Bucky hadn’t paid much attention to that part. “Yeah, well you have help, too. Me and all your Avenger buddies.”

Steve hums in agreement. “I don’t know how much it’s worth, but I’m proud of you, Bucky.”

It's worth so much, Bucky wants to say. He doesn't, so he closes his eyes instead and smiles softly in the dark, sliding his fingers around Steve’s wrist. Steve’s pulse is quicker than usual. He doesn’t let himself think about what he wishes that could mean.

__________________________________________

Steve’s arguing with Tony about something Bucky can’t even be bothered to try following when a holographic image of Vision suddenly appears in the lab.

“I have what you would call good news and bad news,” he says abruptly, startling Steve and Tony out of their debate. Bucky sits atop his stool a little straighter. “I have located the scepter, but only as a result of its sudden activity.”

Bucky hears Steve’s irritated  _dammit_. “Do you have a location now?”

“The scepter was active in Mannheim, Germany, 2 hours and 37 minutes ago. I can no longer place it.”

“JARVIS, can you help?” Steve asks. “Get everyone together. We need to figure out what to do.”

Bucky can tell that not being able to take action bothers Steve, but trying to race across the world in search of someone with a magical stick who could literally be anywhere is not what they need to be doing.

He listens as Natasha and Steve bounce ideas back and forth, trying to guess what Strucker’s next move could be and how it involves the scepter and whatever followed Steve’s mind out of the Tesseract. Other than the vague assumption of world domination, they can’t come up with anything.

They get no updates on the situation, so Steve takes to watching the news for the rest of the night, doodling in his notebook when things get too boring. Bucky moves in and out of the living room, bringing food or water or an attempt to start up a conversation. Steve is too distracted to really engage, so Bucky leaves him alone.

“Zola told him his death meant nothing and his life meant just as much,” Natasha informs him quietly in the kitchen, their teacups steaming on the table. “He believes it.”

_Fucking piece of shit Zola._

Later, Bucky finds Steve asleep with his back against the couch and his head lolled forward, the news a quiet murmur in the background. He sits down beside him, careful not to make any noise, and watches the screen until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

__________________________________________

When Bucky wakes up for a brief moment, he sees that he’s no longer in the sitting position he’d fallen asleep in, but rather pressed against the floor with a heavy, deep breather laying more than half on top of him.

He falls back asleep with his flesh fingers curled around Steve’s t-shirt and his cheek pressed against a sturdy shoulder.

__________________________________________

Steve’s insistence on watching the news turns out to be helpful, but only because Strucker seemed to leave his subtlety behind at the SHIELD bunker. The political conversation on the screen cuts out, being replaced by an emergency news report detailing an army of men demanding that President Ellis surrender himself to their leader.

The shaky camera cuts to and zooms in on a man in the distance. They can’t hear his words over the shouts of his followers. It’s a sight that makes Bucky feel uneasy and, looking over, he can see that Steve feels the same.

There’s something odd about the man. His body leans in a way that suggests one leg is taller than the other and that he holds more bulk on one side. His head is nearly all bald and the hair that remains looks as if it’s about ready to fall out at any moment. And that’s the other thing; the nearly-bald head is full of bright red splotches.

When he turns, the camera picks up the fact that he’s holding the scepter, and that half of his face looks like the flesh is peeling off. The other half… a red skull. Bucky can’t believe his eyes.

Steve stands sharply at the sight, eyes trained on his greatest enemy. Anger and determination radiate from his form.

“What the hell?” Sam whispers, completely shocked.

Tony shakes his head. “Bad year for Ellis.” The disbelief in his tone is clear.

“Who is this man?” Thor questions. Steve’s chest rises and falls with his deep breath.

“Red Skull,” he says, serious and clear. “Johann Schmidt was a German scientist and founder of HYDRA. He and Zola used the Tesseract to make weapons during World War II, but he disappeared when he touched the cube and... I thought he died.”

Natasha watches the screen intently, her brows furrowed. “He must’ve been trapped all this time.”

Now Strucker’s plan makes sense. “That’s why he wanted your body,” Bucky adds. “Only ones made by Erskine. But you came back…”

“So he settled for Strucker’s,” Steve finishes.

Sam looks as if he’s never seen anything so disturbing. “Strucker never looked like  _that._ ”

It’s Banner who decides, “He’s probably trying to recreate his old form by using the scepter.”

“Well that’s just…” Tony struggles. “Not what I was expecting.”

“You’re telling me.” Steve turns to Bucky then, eyes roaming over his face. “You up for wearing the suit?”

Bucky’s surprised by that. “Why?”

Steve smirks. There’s something dangerous about it and Bucky can’t look away. "Red Skull doesn't really like Captain America.” What an understatement.

“I’m sorry,” Sam cuts in, “but is pissin’ off the bad guy really the way you wanna go?”

Tony’s grin could be answer enough, but still, he says, “It’s pretty much always the way to go.”

Two Captain America’s on the battlefield at the same time? Fighting against the person who created the organization that’s responsible for so many terrible things? Hell, he can’t say no to that.

Bucky’s smirk echoes Steve’s. “Ready when you are, pal.”

__________________________________________

Barton pilots the aircraft with Natasha by his side, slowing the closer to their destination they get. Steve drops down as soon as the surrounded White House reaches his line of sight and Bucky doesn’t hesitate to follow, which means that Sam and Tony are close behind. Thor touches down in the distance, but Banner elects to stay out of the fray for as long as he can.

Natasha’s voice cuts through the men from the amplifier atop the aircraft, warning them to stand down, but they act as if they can’t even hear her.

Bucky rushes to catch up with Steve, who’s moving with extreme purpose towards the group and, ultimately, the red-skulled man at the podium, spewing a bunch of crap to his mindless followers.

“And if the leader of this country shall surrender to me, I will show mercy to his people!”

Bucky watches Steve grip his shield, reel it back and fling it forward. It flies high over the crowd, straight towards Schmidt, embedding itself into the wall behind him when he sidesteps the attack.

“Ah, Captain America,” he says into the microphone, causing all of his troops to turn with their weapons ready. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d show up.”

“You won’t win, Schmidt. Give it up.”

Red Skull’s smile is sinister on his grotesque features. “Imagine my delight when I was contacted after decades of roaming through the universe. HYDRA has carried on beautifully in my absence, but now that you have returned, ruining the plans of my successors, I have come to rule once more.”

From the position Bucky has snuck into, he can see Schmidt casually strolling over to pick up Steve’s shield, observing it with dark and disinterested eyes.

“I told you, Captain,” he proclaims, turning enough to see Steve standing near the parted crowd, his stance defensive while Schmidt’s is full of ease. “You could have had the power of the gods. Now, I do.”

He throws the shield with strength and speed more akin to Thor than to Steve, but Steve dodges it anyway, jumping up from a roll to find himself ambushed by the crowd. Bucky hopes that Sam or Tony can get Steve’s shield back to him.

Schmidt watches the crowd, watches Steve go toe-to-toe with hordes of men in a style Bucky knows Schmidt could never master. “Impressive,” Red Skull jeers, though he’s mostly drowned out by all the noise. “But not good eno–”

Bucky chooses that moment to strike. Taking advantage of the distraction, he sneaks up behind Red Skull and smashes his metal fist against the back of Schmidt’s head. It forces him forward only slightly

Schmidt whirls around and catches Bucky’s wrist when he pulls back for another punch, but his surprise at seeing another person dressed as Captain America leaves enough time for Bucky to shoot him near the heart with a contact shot. Blood splatter and he falls backwards, but he’s up only seconds later with his hand around Bucky’s throat and yeah, power of the gods is right.

“Sending others to fight your battles, Captain? You’ve fallen far!” he shouts over his shoulder to Steve. Bucky shuts his eyes tight and tries to breathe as Schmidt strangles him. The helmet gets unbuckled and dropped, and Schmidt laughs at what he sees. “Doctor Zola’s favorite pet. What a reunion!”

The shield slams into Red Skull’s back and his grip loosens around Bucky’s neck when he turns to look on reflex. Bucky, never wasting an opportunity, flings his metal arm upward, forcing Schmidt’s jaw up with a crack, and then kicks his legs forward until he falls to his back with his enemy flying through the air. He grabs the shield from where it had fallen and holds it up against Red Skull’s scepter. It’s the blue light shooting out, and the sight brings him back to the war once more. He flinches when the beam smashes against the shield, sending vibrations through his body, but he’s strong enough to hold it now and he won’t be beaten by HYDRA again.

It feels like he’s reliving World War II all over, only this time the fight is in the middle of DC with modern technology and even more to lose. Bucky, with his uniform and metal arm and Steve’s shield, holds off Red Skull while Steve fights the HYDRA army alongside Falcon, Iron Man, Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Thor. He knows it probably won’t be long before Hulk makes a guest appearance.

Schmidt is faster and stronger, but his style of fighting is stuck in the past and Bucky throws an onslaught of brutal hits, full of anger and desperation and the need to finish what he never could. He’ll be around to win the war this time, right there with Steve.

And it’s Steve that he keeps thinking of, fighting without his shield because Bucky has it. He needs to try and draw Red Skull into the crowd so he can keep to Steve’s side.

Bucky holds the shield up in front of him, twisting himself backwards, using it to smack away any enemies at his side. He tries to shoot and gets a few hits in, but his focus stays on being defensive. He thinks Red Skull probably knows Bucky’s leading him to the group fighting his men, though he doesn’t seem worried by it. He’s never seen the Avengers in action and the prospect of him getting beaten down by his team, his  _family_ (because really, that’s what they are, a family) is one he greatly looks forward to.

“On your left!” Bucky hears Sam call out to Steve. His eyes zero in on Steve’s small smile through the chaos.

They can do this.

Bucky slams his back into Steve’s and moves the shield around for him to take, which he does seamlessly. Bucky gets a punch in on Schmidt’s face and is no doubt about to get one in return when Natasha appears out of nowhere, wrapping herself around Red Skull with her favorite wire cutting into his neck. Barton’s in the distance, shooting arrows with perfect precision to stop the army from closing in around them and Tony’s shooting repulsor rays straight into Schmidt’s face.

Falcon fights at Steve’s left, Bucky at Steve’s back. Thor’s taken to protecting the White House and President Ellis inside by striking down anyone who gets too close. And Banner stands by, ready to hulk out if he’s called for.

Natasha’s flung off after giving Schmidt a dose of high voltage pain, so Steve sees only one way to retaliate.

“Toss me at ‘im!” he shouts out to Bucky, ending it with a grunt as he slams his shield into someone’s face.

Bucky flips a guy onto the ground, slamming his foot down and snapping the arm. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah! C’mon!”

Bucky doesn’t have time to think it through. He grabs Steve’s arm and spins him around, trusting Steve to vault himself up at the right time. Steve smacking feet first into Red Skull’s chest, knocking him down and flinging the scepter far out of anyone’s grasp. It’s a satisfying sight.

The Avengers have managed to kill or injure nearly all of the HYDRA army, but Schmidt’s still going strong, even as Steve starts wailing on him with horribly hard blows.

“How do we get rid of this guy?” Barton asks. “Get the cube back down here, or maybe the scepter –”

“No!” Steve grunts. He’s been thrown off, so Bucky lunges at Schmidt. “We send him away, he’ll just come back!”

“Well if you got a way to kill him, I’m all ears!”

Bucky feels his flesh arm break and he cries out in pain, writhing in an attempt to get the upper hand.

“Bucky!” Steve shouts, not so far away. He wants to focus on that voice.

“You are weak, Sergeant Barnes.” Schmidt punctuates his words by twisting hard on Bucky’s leg. He tries, but he can’t stop his agonized scream.

“You’re nothing,” Bucky spits out, bloody cheek pressed against the asphalt. “You’re just like every other power hungry bastard in the world. You’re not special, you’re  _nothing_.”

Schmidt’s hold on Bucky’s leg tightens with his anger and he’s about to break it, but then Thor’s there, batting him away. Bucky sees him fly at Schmidt, slamming the hammer onto his chest to keep him down.

Steve drops the shield when he reaches Bucky, using both hands to pull him up. He can hear Schmidt shouting. They all ignore him.

“I could end this man’s terror on your world,” Thor tells them. “Give me the word.”

Steve shakes his head. “I can’t let you get that blood on your hands. This is my fault –”

“Shut up, Steve. It’s not,” Bucky grinds out. Steve steadies him. Bucky forgoes his pride and lets himself cling to his friend.

There are sudden sirens in the distance, getting louder by the second. He and Steve and Thor notice first, and then Tony when he’s informed by JARVIS that there are agents incoming.

“Agents?”

Their cars are unmarked but their vests say SHIELD - and that’s new. Coulson had been working largely underground, but here these agents were, hunkered down with their weapons drawn on the Avengers in plain sight.

“Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and all other accomplices – set your weapons down and put your hands up!”

Bucky tries to look for an escape route. They’re surrounded.

“We’ll ask you one more time – put your hands in the air! You are under arrest!”

Steve removes his hands from Bucky’s shoulders to slowly put them high in the air. Sam and Tony do the same, followed by Thor and Barton. Natasha and Bucky share a look before they raise their hands, too, though Bucky’s only able to lift his metal limb.

“Why’re we under arrest?” Steve questions calmly, but Bucky knows him well enough to sense the underlying anger.

“For crimes against your country.”

It’s probably true that they’re all guilty of crimes against their country (Bucky more than anyone), but the whole thing is very suspicious and Bucky can’t stop his rising panic over being locked away again.

__________________________________________

All of them (minus Banner, who had escaped before the agents could search their aircraft) are taken to a large secret government building where they’re spaced out to be searched and identified for their files. Bucky knows each of them is attempting to piece together what exactly is going on.

“Where’s Director Coulson?” Natasha demands.

One of the agents scoffs. “ _Agent_  Coulson is under disciplinary action.”

These people took SHIELD from Coulson?

“So who’s in charge?” Steve asks next.

The same agent responds. “Councilwoman Hawley.”

Bucky only recognizes the name as someone on the World Security Council because of Tony’s digging. Stark had been right in saying they were breathing down Coulson’s neck.

Steve’s the first one pushed through a large rectangular scanner after having his shield confiscated. “Steven Grant Rogers,” an automated voice rings out tonelessly, for all of them to hear. “Code name: Captain America. Status: Enhanced Human.”

They usher him through and Bucky can only watch as he’s led away in cuffs that are probably too strong for even him to break.

The line moves forward.

“Anthony Edward Stark. Code name: Iron Man. Status: Human.”

“I think I’m pretty enhanced, actually –  _Ow_. You wanna be a little more careful, jackass?”

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Alias: Natasha Romanoff. Code name: Black Widow. Status: Human.”

It’s Bucky’s turn after Natasha. The scanner can only report back ERORR when he steps under. They force a retinal scan on him after that, but the computer tells them there are no matches in the database. Fingerprints come next.

“Identifiable match: James Buchanan Barnes.”

The agents whisper as they stare at him, confused and excited and unsure. Bucky has to keep from fidgeting or else they might try to tranquilize him.

“Put him to the side,” one of the older men orders. “Keep the line moving. Councilwoman Hawley’s waiting.”

Bucky’s led away with the sound of  _“Clinton Barton. Code name: Hawkeye…_ ” fading from his ears. He’s alone with a bunch of hostile strangers who are intent on locking him and his friends away. It’s not a good position to be in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no light, no light // florence + the machine (das remix)
> 
> Well. I was writing this on and off all day today (yesterday, it's now after midnight). The side of my jaw hurts for some reason and I have a headache and my puppy kept chewing on her potty pad, but here were are. I hope you guys enjoy the chapter. I had to go over this a couple times because it was too choppy and I still wasn't able to fix it. Can't really say it's too great or anything, but we've got some stuff going on (more Stucky lead up + a lead in to one of the big, final plot points of the story... can you guess it?). By the way, I hope the story hasn't become confusing to you guys? I feel like I'm just everywhere at this point.
> 
> Steve and Bucky argue about the stupidest things. You'd think they were an old married couple, huh huh?? 
> 
> Awkward Steve is precious. I so desperately wanted to make him say fondue again, but Howard corrected him long ago. /sighs
> 
> I've been getting amazing feedback and it just touches my heart. I just want to write something that you guys can get invested in and enjoy and I hope I continue to do so. <3
> 
> update: I'm stupid and posted the chapter before I was able to read through it one more time. I fond a bunch of errors, but hopefully I fixed them all. I fyou read the chapter before I was able to save the changes, I'm sorry for all the typos.


	22. pale white like the skin stretched over your bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky attempts to make himself look insignificant and unimportant. It doesn’t quite work with his metal arm and Captain America suit.
> 
> Steve speaks the first words. “Is this a hearing?”
> 
> “Not quite,” the woman replies. “We’re doing things a little differently.”
> 
> “Illegally,” Tony pipes in. He squints one eye, as if in thought. “You’re doing things illegally. The right terminology’s important.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And here we are, locked together  
> And here we are, falling from the sun  
> And here we are, locked together  
> Find our way, find our way  
> Find our way to fall"
> 
> &
> 
> "Throw it down  
> look away  
> don't be scared  
> it's okay  
> Settle down  
> set it right  
> don't be scared  
> it's alright"

Bucky’s taken to a room where he sits and glares at anyone who gets too close. They send someone in to patch up his face and tend to his broken arm, but they don’t bother wasting time on pleasantries, jumping right into questioning him at full force instead. He stares at the wall and doesn’t utter a single sound.

“Dig through the files Romanoff leaked,” someone orders. Bucky licks his dry lips and tries not to think about what’ll happen when they find out about his not-so-distant past.

They leave him in the room for hours with nothing to do but observe the guards standing outside the door and think about what’s going on with Steve and Natasha and the rest of the group. His eyes dart around the small room, noting its emptiness aside from the chair he’s sitting on. These people are operating under SHIELD, which Coulson is no longer the head of. Councilwoman Hawley, from the World Security Council, has put herself in charge and – what, ordered the arrest of the Avengers? Why? For cleaning up messes they couldn’t even hope to handle?

Even with just entering the building and moving through some hallways, Bucky could tell the security was tight. These people aren’t messing around, but neither is he. Without their coms and weapons, though…

The door opens and he’s ordered to step out and follow. They put an inhibitor on his metal arm and tell him that if he tries anything, he’ll regret it.

Bucky wants so badly to ask about Steve, but that would be revealing his weakness and he can’t put Steve in any potential danger. He distracts himself by searching for any possible escape routes. There are none.

There are groups of agents in front of him as well as behind, leading him around corners and through doorways that need authorization to get through. He sees Natasha being led in a similar manner up ahead, and then Sam comes into view, shackled up far more than necessary.

The room they meet in is spacious and very bright, with chairs spaced out to form a semi-circle several feet away from a metal desk. Behind it is a large screen with two logos idle in the middle, one of which is SHIELD’s. There are monitors and security cameras and Bucky doesn’t like this one bit.

Tony, Barton, and Steve are already seated in their respective chairs, each with restraints tailored to dampen their strengths. Bucky’s surprised Tony doesn’t have a muzzle.

Steve gives Bucky an indecipherable look from where he sits in the middle when Bucky’s led to the very end. He notices the way each of them are behaving, how Steve sits tall, as if at attention. Sam sits in a similar fashion and, in contrast, Tony slouches with a tilted head and a forced bored expression. Barton’s laser-eyes are gazing at everything while Natasha elects to simply stare at the Councilwoman, in a way that would make anyone fearful. Thor isn’t present, is probably being kept away so that he doesn’t try to escape as soon as he gets even one inch of freedom.

Bucky attempts to make himself look insignificant and unimportant. It doesn’t quite work with his metal arm and Captain America suit.

Steve speaks the first words. “Is this a hearing?”

“Not quite,” the woman replies. “We’re doing things a little differently.”

“Illegally,” Tony pipes in. He squints one eye, as if in thought. “You’re doing things illegally. The right terminology’s important.”

The Councilwoman is not amused. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Mr. Stark?”

“I think President Ellis would disagree. I helped save his life twice now so I think he might owe me a favor – and shouldn’t we be getting our phone call? What’s the number to the White House? The one we were just protecting, in case there’s any confusion.”

“That’s _enough_ , Mr. Stark.” She presses her hands against her suit jacket, trying to calm herself. “After 2012’s attack on New York, the Council was forced to reevaluate what Nick Fury liked to call The Avengers Initiative. We disagreed with his decision to let the members of what is poorly described as a _team_ roam freely without intent to monitor them. We took it upon ourselves to keep our eyes on those we could and were pleased to see Captain Rogers join SHIELD. However, his behavior during the recent catastrophe in Washington DC is inexcusable and, frankly, would classify him as an enemy of the state.”

Bucky side-eyes Steve, only to find his expression unchanged.

“Not to mention Mr. Stark’s public threatening of a terrorist and questionable involvement surrounding the safety of the President, among other things.”

“Yeah, could I point out for one second that –”

“Not necessary,” the Councilwoman interrupts. “We have all the information we need. Truthfully, we have _more_ than we need, now that Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers have destroyed our intelligence community and uploaded our files for the world to see.”

Bucky watches the way Natasha smiles, making it polite and condescending. “I’ve had this conversation on Capitol Hill, Councilwoman Hawley. If you need my thoughts on the matter, read the transcript.”

“I don’t need your thoughts, Agent Romanoff. But I would like to hear the statement Captain Rogers never gave.”

Bucky turns his head slightly, just enough to watch Steve shift in his seat, his encased hands atop his lap.

“Agent Romanoff, Sam Wilson, and I took down SHIELD’s Project Insight helicarriers because they were being prepped to fire on 20 million people at the order of Secretary Pierce. He, his STRIKE Team, and countless others were double agents, infiltrating SHIELD on the orders of HYDRA operatives,” Steve tells her coolly. “That’s my statement.”

She makes a noise, feigning thoughtfulness. “And you’ve chosen to hide for what reason? It seems to me that even you are aware of your own guilt, Captain Rogers.”

“I’ll have to disagree, Ma’am.”

“So you believe your actions to be justifiable?”

“That depends on what you think justifiable means.”

Councilwoman Hawley gives Steve a stern look. “Careful, Captain. If we dig a little deeper we might just find out how treasonous your actions have been.”

“That sounds like a threat to me,” Tony adds and really, Bucky’s sure he’s about to be thrown out – or much worse – if he keeps it up. “I demand a lawyer.”

Hawley ignores Tony and turns her gaze on Bucky, making his body tense up.

“James Barnes died on a mission in 1945, but this is him, sitting right in front of us.” She turns back towards Steve, a challenge in tone. “Can you explain why pieces of HYDRA files indicate that Sergeant Barnes is a notorious assassin responsible for the deaths of numerous government officials? And while you’re at it, why he’s alive today?”

Bucky stares past the woman, focusing on the screen with the SHIELD logo. He should’ve known his actions as The Winter Soldier wouldn’t disappear just because he wanted to redeem himself, should’ve known bringing Steve into his mess of a life would cause problems. Another selfish act; another terrible consequence for the person he cares most about.

Bucky has to sit there and listen to Steve recount the details of The Winter Soldier while simultaneously trying to defend him. He knows Steve’s trying desperately to explain everything in a way that doesn’t sound so awful, but it doesn’t help. Hearing the summarized version of his life makes him feel sick.

“This isn’t looking good for you or your friends, Captain,” she tells him. “You could all be in very serious trouble. Punishment might even include death.”

Steve stands at that, causing the guards to draw their weapons, but he ignores them. Bucky, however, can’t look away and has to stop himself from lashing out.

“The only person at fault is me,” Steve says quickly, and Bucky could just punch him in his stupid, noble face. “The Avengers were acting under my authority.”

“Your authority seems to cause a lot of problems,” Hawley notes, reaching for a remote on the desk. She smiles tightly when she says, “But we finally have a solution.”

The screen behind her flashes, the words SUPERHUMAN REGISTRATION ACT in big, red letters taking the place of the logos.

“After New York’s invasion, the Council started thinking of ways to secure the public from threats of a similar nature. Your involvement in the destruction of SHIELD and other intelligence agencies spurred the SRA along. When we caught wind of a situation involving the Avengers and the CIA, Congress rushed the passage of the Act.”

“You’re gonna register superhumans?”

“More than that,” Hawley replies, sounding very pleased. “The Act states that anyone with Superhuman abilities, including those who associate with or identify as superhuman, even by aid of science or technology, will be registered as living weapons of mass destruction and monitored at all times.” Tony scoffs loudly. “And if they don’t, they’ll be tried and punished accordingly.”

“That’s insane,” Steve says bluntly, his expression full of disbelief.

“It’s necessary. We can’t trust you or your allies any longer. You’ve proven to be nothing but vigilantes and this country won’t stand for it.”

“What about _your_ allies?” Steve fires back. “Secretary Pierce, Senator Stern, Vice President Rodriguez – all members of _your_ team.” Bucky has to bite his tongue because Steve’s sass is so strong. “All people in high places, running this country right into enemy hands. If you don’t wanna rely on vigilantes then you better make damn sure you can rely on the people who are supposed to keep us safe.”

“You’re out of line, Captain,” Hawley bites out.

Bucky can tell Steve is beyond caring. “I’ve already been arrested, Ma’am. If you think of another punishment, let me know.”

“As a matter of fact,” Hawley says loudly, her back straight and her arms crossed. “I already have. Captain America will be the face of the SRA.”

Bucky has never seen Steve’s expression mixed with so many emotions, the most notable being disgust and anger. “I stand for freedom, not oppression. You’re asking people to give up not only their identity, but their lives - and for what? So you can keep your secrets safer?”

“We’re concerned about our people, Captain,” Hawley says, but it sounds only half-true. “It isn’t just about the Avengers, there are others out there – Stephen Strange, Scott Lang, Janet van Dyne. Our very own Colonel Rhodes has worn the Iron Patriot suit outside of orders, no doubt under the influence of Tony Stark.” Stark opens his mouth, but Hawley gives him no time to speak. “Just last month, Carol Danvers started exhibiting superhuman abilities after an accident at NASA! This is a new age and changes need to be made if we’re to prevent further catastrophes.”

“I can understand where you’re coming from, Councilwoman,” Natasha interjects, “but putting people under constant surveillance would _cause_ the catastrophes you say you’re trying to prevent.”

“The Council and Congress disagree, Agent Romanoff.”

“Is President Ellis on board with this?” Steve demands.

Hawley’s expression is not the most convincing thing Bucky’s ever seen. It makes her sound like a liar when she says, “He is.”

“I think I changed my mind,” Tony decides then, shifting in his seat to lean forward. “Forget the White House. I wanna call my friend. He’s really persuasive and can fix almost any problem. Good listener, too.”

“Mr. Stark,” Hawley barks out. Then she sighs. “There aren’t any other options, Captain Rogers. You’re either with the law or you’re against it, and I hope I don’t have to remind you what the latter entails.”

“Maybe there aren’t any options, but there’s always a choice. And I say no.”

Despite his rising anxiety, Bucky can’t help feeling proud. Steve’s righteousness is stupid and brave and _right_ when everything else seems wrong.

Hawley nearly huffs with exasperation. “I can’t understand your aversion to this! You’d take a trial, where you’d no doubt be found guilty, just to protect the names of people who are a danger to the public?”

“It’s about free will,” Steve tells her fiercely. Bucky understands completely. “You can’t force people to give up their identities because you’re afraid they might do something you aren’t prepared for. I was a soldier, and so was Sam and so was Bucky, and we fought for freedom on that battlefield. Being an Avenger doesn’t change that. You should be proud that citizens of America are ready to stand up and use their skills to serve and protect, even when no one asked them to. The SRA sounds like just another way to treat people as criminals before they’ve done anything to deserve it.”

“Did it occur to you that they might decide to register?” Hawley counters. “Mr. Stark had no trouble telling the world he was Iron Man.”

“What you’re offering is an ultimatum, not a choice.”

Hawley stares at Steve for a long moment, her chin jutted and her eyes like slits. Bucky knows Steve’s in trouble and wonders how he’ll get out of it. Bucky will help him if he can, but it seems likely that he’s in even worse than Steve.

“We’ll see what your friends have to say,” she elects. “Mr. Stark?”

“I think Rogers is being a little dramatic.”

“What do you think about the SRA, Stark? Standing with us could make Iron Man the new face of America.”

Tony bites his lip. Bucky watches his expression very carefully, tries to read him. He can’t.

“Look, I get what you’re doing. I contributed to Insight ‘cause when I heard about it, I thought – this doesn’t sound so bad. I mean it ended up pretty bad, but y’know. Hindsight.” He sighs and scratches at his head. “That’s a pretty tempting offer you got there. But I’d rather be the face of rebellion. Sorry.”

Despite the deep hole they all continue to dig for themselves, Bucky can breathe a little easier when Tony sides with Steve.

Hawley shakes her head slowly, not able to believe what’s going on. “That’s a shame. Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark, and Mr. Barnes are all to be held until punishment can be dealt. Who else would like join them?”

Everyone, it turns out.

Sam’s the first to stand, with no fear or regret in his features. Bucky watches the way Barton and Natasha share a look, a silent conversation passing between them. And then they stand, too.

“Well,” Hawley breathes out, looking down at the watch on her wrist before her gaze passes over each Avenger around her. “Standing against us will do you no good. The Act has passed and the announcement from Congress should have aired by now. Let’s take a look.”

The screen cuts over to a news station where two women and a man are sitting at a desk, discussing the topic displayed on the banner.

“And the people are already expressing their opinions on the sudden passing of what’s being called the Superhuman Registration Act. Congress is describing it as ‘a preventative measure’ and ‘the next step towards a better, safer world.’ Take a look at this clip from the official announcement made just hours ago.”

“ _We stand together today to let the world know we are taking action against those responsible for the numerous disasters that have taken shape over these last couple of years. The Battle of New York saw the creation of a group of people classified as superhuman. While their actions may have been in the name of the law, they were undoubtedly acting on their own authority and interfered with the movements of our World Security Council._

_“We were presented with yet another issue when, just months ago, Captain America led a strike against a project designed to protect our nation, causing damage worth millions of dollars, but also the loss of many innocent lives. And finally, yesterday saw Captain America and the group known as the Avengers causing a violent riot outside the White House, putting the President and the American people in danger. These are acts of terrorism._

_“But today we are choosing to fight back. The Superhuman Registration Act will demand the registration of anyone who can be classified as superhuman, including those with exceptional skill sets or those using technology not authorized by the government, as well as extraterrestrial beings. Registration will allow citizens to know who these people masquerading as heroes really are. Those like Captain America and Iron Man will be monitored diligently, and anyone refusing to abide by this law will be tried and punished for their negligence.”_

Bucky has the sinking suspicion that Tony’s only laughing so he doesn't start freaking out. If he has a panic attack then Bucky will have one and things will just continue to spiral down farther than hell.

 “One last chance to change your mind,” Hawley declares after shutting off the screen.

Steve looks to Bucky, who looks back with something he feels might be resignation. It makes Steve’s jaw clench.

“We’re not surrendering,” Steve says plainly. “If you want a Civil War, you’ve got one.”

__________________________________________

They’re sent back to the rooms they were being held in with instructions to be quiet, which is why Bucky can hear Tony chattering from all the way across the long hallway.

He thinks of Banner, who’s probably on the run right now, and of Wanda and Pietro. They’d been promised protection and now that Coulson was out of the picture they’d probably been captured, too. He wonders if Vision classifies as superhuman.

Bucky doesn’t know who James Rhodes or Carol Danvers or Stephen Strange are, but he hopes they’re either stupid enough to go along with whatever lies the government feeds them or smart enough to run away. If they’re anything like Steve, they might be brave enough to stand and fight. But bravery seems to mean nothing these days and it’s sad and infuriating.

“If you let me out now I can sort of promise that things might not get so messy,” he can hear Tony saying.

“I’d advise you to quit talking, Mr. Stark.”

Bucky furrows his brows and shifts in his spot, unable to move his arms. The guards outside his door are talking about him, The Winter Soldier, so he has to strain to hear Tony’s next words.

“Just warning you. You might wanna find somewhere to hide in – well, I can’t really give you a time frame. In my experience, these things just sort of pan out on their own.”

Bucky can imagine the agent sighing before she humors him and asks, “What things?”

“Rescue missions.”

Bucky doesn’t understand what Tony’s getting at. Was he able to contact someone somehow? They took every device on him. Or maybe he’s just letting out hot air, trying to annoy anyone and everyone because he has nothing else to keep him occupied. Maybe he wants these people to think he has the upper hand.

If Steve really started a Civil War, Bucky’s going to strangle him.

The ache in his arm is a dull pain by now, but it’s all he can focus on, especially to keep himself from falling asleep. The guards outside the door have gone quiet. Tony has, too. Bucky knows that he’ll either be sent to die or live out the rest of his life as a test subject, but his worry isn’t for himself. For the first time in over 70 years, Bucky prays. Steve and Natasha and Tony and Sam and Barton and Thor – they all have to get out of this. They _have_ to.

Bucky startles awake an indiscernible amount of time later, silently cursing himself for being unable to stay alert. He stands immediately when he notices the ground begin to shake. It isn’t long before the walls begin to shake, too, and then he hears it, a deafening roar, drowning out the sudden panic of the agents.

Bucky could laugh (mostly from hysteria) at the fact that the help Tony had been huffing about was the  _Hulk_. But aside from tearing up every building in the state, how could Banner find them?

Things turn chaotic, as they usually do.

Bucky doesn’t know if he should stick to the wall or drop to the ground as Hulk starts tearing the building apart, looking for his friends. There’s gunfire and yelling and smashing and a mixture of rumblings –

And Thor’s got his hammer back; Bucky can see the flashes of lighting through the window on the door.

Bucky sidesteps just in time, missing the door that goes flying towards him, right off its hinges. His eyes can barely register the sight of the hammer before it gets summoned back to the god standing in the doorway. Thor helps Bucky get the shackles off his ankles and deactivate the inhibitor on his arm, and then they’re headed out into the fray.

Natasha’s got her legs around a big man’s neck, squeezing tight even as she leans back to sink her teeth into another man’s forearm. Barton’s throwing elbows and Sam’s twisting arms to get a weapon and Tony’s shooting repulsor beams from a suit that’s only halfway on.

Bucky sees the shield soar by before he glimpses Steve’s fast-paced combat, taking only a moment out of his flurrying kicks and punches to spin around and catch his shield as it ricochets back.

Bucky’s only got one arm to fight with. He does just fine.

But they don’t stay long to fight, knowing they’re attacking a place that will send in every piece of defense they have. People will get hurt and killed, probably even one of their own, if they keep this up.

“Go!” Steve shouts at them. “I’ll hold ‘em off!”

“The hell you will!” Bucky nearly growls. He shoots a man in the head and runs towards Steve, wrapping his only useful arm around Steve’s middle. “I’m not gonna let you kill yourself.”

Barton’s got his quiver on his back and is rushing his way towards Natasha, who looks stressed and frazzled but still in control enough to look towards Bucky, as if making sure it’s okay she leave him.

“Go!” he tells her, echoing Steve.

He watches them head towards a fully-suited Tony, watches Barton fly off in Iron Man’s grasp as Natasha gets hauled up onto Hulk’s shoulder. Bucky makes eye contact with Sam very briefly, just before he flies away, following Thor’s lightning trail.

He tightens his arm around Steve’s middle and pulls hard, forcing him off his feet just long enough to jump through the Hulk-sized hole in the wall.

The shield is the only thing keeping them alive as they run through the surrounded area, but it won’t keep them safe forever. Bucky glances around quickly, noting the various choppers.

“Throw me up,” he tells Steve. It’s dangerous and stupid. It has to be done.

Steve tosses Bucky up once he jumps up onto the shield. The combined momentum, and Bucky’s superhuman body, allows him to fly far enough into the air to grip the bottom of the hovering chopper. He flings himself up, blocking bullets with his metal limb, and kicks the agents and officers out so he can pilot. He moves down just far enough for Steve to launch himself up off a car to scramble inside, and then they're gone, trying to escape the onslaught.

Bucky has no idea where to go. Neither does Steve.

__________________________________________

_“Captain America has initiated a Civil War –”_

_“Billionaire inventor Tony Stark, otherwise known as Iron Man, has allied himself with the Avengers against Congress and the World Security Council’s Superhuman Registration Act –”_

_“We’ve received word that the famous World War II Sergeant, James Barnes, is alive and has been operating as an assassin code-named The Winter Soldier –”_

__________________________________________

_The Superhuman Registration Act (SRA) is now in effect. Any and all unregistered superhumans, including those classified as superhuman as determined by Congress, will be found guilty and punished accordingly._

__________________________________________

They’ve been out of America for at least two weeks now, hiding out in various European cities. He feels as if he’s back at the beginning, trying to figure out who he was and what to do when he found out. But at least now he’s running _with_ his memories and Steve by his side.

They haven’t had a way to contact any of the other Avengers, who have all gone underground at this point. Nothing about Hulk sightings or public threats from Tony Stark or inexplicable lightning storms have made the news that they’ve taken to checking obsessively.

Seeing Steve with stubble is a strange sight, but not an unwelcome one. He thinks it’ll help disguise him. Bucky thinks he’s probably right.

He’s recovering from a gunshot wound to his shoulder, so Steve has been going out to get them food and supplies. He has to steal most things, feeling bad about it, causing Bucky to offer words of comfort. He’s not so good at it, but getting Steve to smile at least once a day is a victory he’ll take.

Bucky hears the door rattling before Steve steps through, a bag of food in one hand and the key to their motel room in the other. It’s a rundown place in the slums of a small city where everyone looks homeless and it’s perfect for laying low.

Steve shuts and locks the door behind him, trudging forward to set the bag on top of the table Bucky’s seated at. He’d been watching the small television because Steve didn’t understand Russian and wouldn’t be able to pick up on anything important. The fact that he’s bored is a good sign.

Steve shrugs off his coat, hangs it over the back of the rickety wooden chair, and sits next to Bucky so he can at least see the images on the screen. He hands Bucky his food before pulling his own out, but Bucky’s the only one who starts eating.

Steve stares down at his food, lost in thought. Bucky can see that he not just upset, he’s truly depressed. Like his PTSD, it's gone largely ignored and Bucky feels for him. The situation they’re in is so _fucked_.

God, he just wants to give Steve some relief.

“What’s the matter?” Bucky asks before biting into his Bulochki. He knows it’s a stupid question with an obvious answer, but maybe it can get Steve talking.

“Nothing,” he answers quietly, barely exerting himself and not bothering to look up.

“Steve.”

Steve looks at him then, tired and grave. “Was I wrong?”

Bucky wonders how often Steve doubts himself and if it’s ever been as bad as now.

“You stood up for what you thought was right,” Bucky tells him. “That’s never wrong.”

“And look where it got us,” Steve replies, clearly conflicted.

“Hey, I’m here ‘cause I wanna be. And everyone else? They’re better off on the run. You know that.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Bucky, come on.”

“I don’t follow you ‘cause I have no one else to go with,” Bucky tells him, twisting in his seat until his knees press against Steve’s thigh. He’s being honest with himself as well as with Steve. “It’s not even ‘cause I’ve always done it.”

Steve’s eyes flicker back up to Bucky’s face. He waits, letting Steve gaze at him, his own eyes taking in the features of the man in front of him. Everything’s mostly quiet, the background noise sounding far away; the murmuring television, an echo of a honking horn, the creak of the chair when Steve shifts. Steve’s eyes dart down and then back up again. He looks pensive and Bucky’s unsure if that’s good or not.

Bucky licks his dry lips, struggles to find the words to say because Steve deserves to hear them. When he sighs softly, Bucky thinks it sounds resigned.

Steve swallows and the movement is tracked by an attentive gaze.

“There’s more than one person out there,” he says quietly. “Remember when I said that?”

Bucky nods.

“Peggy and you.” His lips quirk up at one corner, something a little sad and fearful and affectionate, too. “My best girl and my best guy.”

Bucky feels like he’s taken in too much breath, needs to let it out in a quiet rush. He can’t be sure he heard that correctly. Hell, is he even awake?

“Me?”

“Yeah, Bucky.” Steve sounds like he might laugh, though the sound would probably be hollow. “There were a couple times I thought maybe you…” His eyebrows raise and he shakes his head and Bucky’s left to finish the thought in his own mind.

He swallows, asks, “You love me the way you loved Peggy?”

Steve nods, like it’s all he can do.

“And you thought…”

He shuts his eyes. Bucky’s not having it.

“I guess you’re not dumb all the time,” he says, and he has to smirk a little at the way Steve’s head snaps up, the way his eyes open wide.

“So you –” Steve sweeps his hand in the air vaguely, trying to convey his feelings. It makes Bucky start laughing because really, neither of them can just say exactly how they feel? And then Steve starts laughing, too, and all Bucky wants to do is touch him, grab onto him and never let go.

“A lot’s happened,” Bucky starts. “I remember what it was like before and it’s important to me, but everything that’s happened since the bridge made me who I am _now_ , and you stuck it out. You know how much that means to me? Even with all my shit, you still think I’m someone worth something. And if Steve Rogers wants to waste his second chance at love on me then I must be the luckiest fella in the world.”

“Shut up, Bucky." His smile wide and beautiful.

Bucky’s always been smart. Right now, he feels like a genius. A genius who’s waited a stupid amount of time to get his act together.

“You won’t sock me in the face if I kiss you, right?”

Bucky revels in the way Steve smirks through his surprise.

He leans forward, chair creaking as he goes. His eyes dart over Steve’s features; the different hues of blue in his eyes, the heavy bottom lip, the blond hairs that fall against his forehead after being in the wind. He knows he’s not imagining the tinge of pink coloring Steve’s skin.

And Steve’s looking at Bucky the same way, taking in everything about him. He remembers the sketches – the ones from the past and the ones from now; can’t forget the way Steve sees him. It makes his chest feel tight and his stomach feel twisted.

Bucky shuts his eyes when he gets too close to see straight. Steve nudges forward, not as stiff or awkward as Bucky had expected, their lips pressing into a ghost of a kiss. He can’t remember the last time he kissed someone but it doesn’t matter. He can be vulnerable and scared and excited with Steve, and he’s all of those things now. But most of all, he’s happy. With everything that’s wrong, kissing Steve feels _right_. It's not a shocking revelation.

They lean back a few inches at the same time, eyes lidded and lips parted for anxious breathing. It takes him a moment to focus on anything other than Steve’s nose touching his, their breaths mingling, but when he does he sees that Steve’s giving him an odd look.

Bucky pulls back a little more, scrunching his face up slightly. “Is it weird?”

Steve laughs a little, breathy and kind of nervous. “Yeah,” he answers honestly.

And okay, maybe it’s a little weird, but it’s also good and he wants to try again, but if Steve’s not up for it –

Steve presses his hand against the back of Bucky’s head and digs his fingers into the short hair there. Bucky has one brief moment to consider growing his hair out again, just so Steve can tighten his fingers in it properly, before he’s being led towards a soft, warm mouth.

It’s gentle but sure, with lips parting after a moment of just feeling. Bucky lets his tongue sweep over Steve’s bottom lip and moves a hand up to grip at a broad shoulder. His other hand snakes up to rest against the back of Steve’s neck, fingers curling, pulling him closer.

Steve huffs into the kiss, laughing, but he pulls Bucky in farther instead of pushing himself away. It takes only seconds for Bucky to start laughing with him, noses bumping and teeth clacking because they’re both too stubborn and needy to stop what they’ve both been waiting ages for.

Bucky knows they can’t stay here forever, tugging at each other and kissing in a shabby motel hundreds of miles away from where they should be. But he can live in the moment and hope wildly that there will be more times like this in the future.  They changed and so did the world, but they’re still here, existing together, like it’s never been any other way. Bucky will make damn sure it stays like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> falling from the sun // the album leaf  
> at a glance // message to bears
> 
> also: unleft // message to bears
> 
> HEEEYYYYYY, WE DID IT, HUH?! Over 100 thousand words and they've finally got their lips together. I wasn't gonna make them kiss, but ended up doing it anyway, just for you guys (and it felt like the right moment anyway; no huge revelation, no perfect timing... I mean, they're on the run from the law). Gosh, I'm really nervous right now. All that buildup and character development and plot and this is where it comes together?? I feel like it's terrible, but I spent like a day and a half trying to write this out so I hope you can get some enjoyment out of it.
> 
> Also, superhuman registration act. I don't know anything about law, fictional or otherwise, and yet I spent more than half the chapter talking about it. haha, I worked in the words Civil War even at the risk of it being cheesy. But anyway. Yeah, I really don't think MCU Tony would side with the law? I don't think any of the Avengers would.
> 
> I don't know how many chapters I have left to write, but I can say that the story is sort of winding down at this point. We've still got stuff to go, though, so I better get started.
> 
> My biggest worry is that I've disappointed you guys. 
> 
> Like always, I want to thank you all for the support. Your comments are so inspiring. <3
> 
> Side note: I feel like I've been rushing things lately? I don't really know why considering the length... but I guess I just mean that I've been breezing through the last chapters? I hope it's just me thinking that.


	23. spring keeps you ever close, you are second-hand smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky shoves his hands into his pockets and nods. He doesn’t feel the need to watch his surroundings as compulsively when Barton’s doing it for them.
> 
> “How’re Tony and Bruce? You hear from Sam or Thor?”
> 
> Natasha purses her lips. Bucky feels dread start to settle in the pit of his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've seen a million numbered doors on the horizon  
> Now which is the future you choosing before you go dying?  
> I'll tell you 'bout a secret I've been undermining  
> Every little lie in this world come from dividing  
> Say you're my lover, say you're my homie  
> Tilt my chin back, slit my throat  
> take a bath in my blood, get to know me  
> All out of my secrets  
> all my enemies are turning into my teachers  
> Because lights blinding, no way dividing  
> what's yours or mine when everything's shining  
> Your darkness is shining, my darkness is shining  
> Have faith in ourselves, truth"

Earlier on, they heard that James Rhodes had been one of the first to register under the SRA, followed by Carol Danvers and Janet van Dyne and then finally, Scott Lang. It took another week and a move to two more cities for them to hear anything more.

Wanda and Pietro Maximoff are on the American news, their details for all to see; height, weight, age, abilities – even which state they’re being allowed to stay in. The look on Steve’s face is one of pure confliction.

Next sees Stephen Strange and Vision on the list, the latter being classified as a Synthetic Humanoid and given the name Victor Shade. There are others he’s never heard of, signing up so as not to be arrested, but the ones that catch Bucky’s eye are those who refuse and aren’t afraid to show it. Elvin Haliday and Luke Cage are the newest outlaws and Bucky knows he shouldn’t encourage their behavior (hiding out, despite being able to spend time together, isn’t a good life), but he can’t help telling Steve each time someone follows in his footsteps.

Bucky treks up the stairs to their motel room, pulling the scarf away from his face before he reaches the door. He takes a moment’s pause when he spots a blank scrap of paper taped to the door of the room he’s sharing with Steve. It’s suspicious, so he cautiously reaches out and yanks it down, rubbing his fingertips against the rain-curled edges before turning it around. The only thing written is a series of small, neat numbers that he immediately knows are coordinates.

Bucky stares at it for a long moment, wetting his lips in thought. He shouldn’t go. It’d be stupid and reckless and he doesn’t even know who the paper’s from, probably someone trying to get him alone.

He repositions the gun at his back and the knife in his boot, heading back down the stairs very quietly.

The coordinates lead him to a cemetery. Whoever’s attempting to meet (or ambush) him is pretty strange, he thinks. If they plan to kill him in a cemetery then they must be smart, too.

“The fossil okay?”

Bucky tenses immediately, allows a breath to rush through his nose, startled and relieved. _Natasha_. He turns his head, spots her sitting in a tree. He can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees Barton wave from a neighboring tree several feet away, near the entry gate.

Natasha quirks an eyebrow at him, impatient and worried if the crease between her brows is anything to go by.

Fossil. Steve.

“Physically,” he answers. She has to already know he’s not doing so well emotionally.

Natasha hops down from the branch, as agile as a cat, straightening out her jacket as she moves. Her hair is blond now, more than likely a wig, but it suits her very well. Seeing her alive and safe is a huge relief and Bucky knows it will be for Steve, too.

“And you?” she asks, mouth pulled into a tiny smirk.

“Better.” Though that really isn’t saying much. “S’good to see.”

She moves forward and and hugs him, a rare display of physical affection. He hugs her back, as tight as he can without hurting her, happy to press his face into her fake hair. It smells nice, better than the shampoo he’s been using.

“How’d you find us?”

“Well,” she sighs, “Out of all the languages you know, you’re most comfortable with Russian.”

Bucky shoves his hands into his pockets and nods. He doesn’t feel the need to watch his surroundings as compulsively when Barton’s doing it for them.

“How’re Tony and Bruce? You hear from Sam or Thor?”

Natasha purses her lips. Bucky feels dread start to settle in the pit of his stomach. “Tony and the Council negotiated,” she tells him lowly, watching his expression with careful eyes. “He’s an enforcer of the SRA now.”

Bucky inhales deeply, doesn’t really know what to think. He can’t hate Tony for his decision. Someone like Stark isn’t meant to be on the run from the law, no matter how many times he breaks it. He’s a face for the public, has been for a long time, and a hero that people look up to. If he represents the law and the superhumans, then the public won’t have anything to worry about.

But still… the news leaves him feeling a little bitter. After everything they’d been through, Tony switches sides?

Natasha crosses her arms when he asks, “You gonna tell Steve?”

They head back to the motel in a small, beat up car that blends in easily with all the others on the streets. Steve doesn’t even look up when Bucky pushes the door open, is too busy watching some cartoon on the small television screen. He’s so concentrated on it that Bucky has to think he’s not even paying attention, probably lost in the flurry off thoughts going off in his enhanced brain. But when he does look up, it’s because he’s startled by the sounds of extra footsteps.

He smiles when he sees Natasha and Barton, though the weariness is clear.

Barton speaks first, says, “I like the facial hair.”

“Thanks,” Steve replies. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just dropping in,” Natasha answers almost coyly, glancing around the room with vague curiosity. It’s mostly neat, aside from the few plastic containers littering the countertop in the corner. Bucky watches as she trails her fingertips against the book on the table. “We have some news.”

Steve raises an eyebrow slightly, his gaze bouncing between Bucky and Natasha and Barton. “I’m guessing it’s nothing worth a congratulations.”

Natasha side-eyes Bucky, who refrains from rolling his eyes. “It’s good you still have a sense of humor,” she says dryly. “But I doubt you’ll find this funny.”

“Haven’t laughed once all day. Might as well keep the streak going.”

Steve shuts his eyes and tucks his chin down towards his chest when Natasha tells him. Bucky watches him take a moment to breathe, to take it all in, knows when Steve lifts his head back up and rubs at his stubbly jaw that he’s trying to keep it together.

“Okay,” he says, a deep breath following. “Stark made a deal. Maybe you and Barton can, too.”

Bucky has no idea what Steve’s talking about, but neither does Natasha and she tells him so.

“I’ll go back,” he explains. “Maybe I can get them to let you register without any problems.”

“How?” Bucky demands. “They don’t need you if they got Stark.”

“I made a mistake,” Steve tells him, and the resolution in his voice shakes Bucky. “I’ll fix it.”

Bucky holds his hand out, lets it smack into Steve when he tries to move towards the bedroom. “You can’t fix every problem, Steve. Sometimes you just have to live with it.” _Sometimes you just have to live_. He doesn’t tell Steve that going back would more than likely end in his blood – and Bucky’s, because he’s sure as hell not letting Steve go alone.

“I have to try.”

“No.” Bucky turns his head slowly, an aborted shake. “You don’t.”

“Bucky –” Steve tries to argue. Bucky won’t listen.

“ _No_ ,” he nearly shouts, hands pressing against Steve’s chest until his back hits the wall with a thud.

He’s noticed that Steve lets Bucky handle him in a way that no one else is allowed to, in a way that suggests Steve’s small again, needing a gentle touch but not wanting it. Steve fights back against the rest of the world, but not against Bucky. It nearly got him killed once, so maybe it can help save him now.

“Please,” he adds, so quiet that it could be just another breath, but he knows Steve hears it.

Steve curls his hand around Bucky’s neck and pulls him closer, presses his face into dark hair. Bucky holds one hand against the wall, concentrates on not leaving dents with his fingertips, and curls his flesh fingers around Steve’s belt loop.  

“We can’t do this forever,” Steve murmurs. Bucky knows that’s true. “I gotta go back sooner or later.”

“It’s a suicide mission,” Natasha says, purely informative. “Listen.”

Natasha strides forward and holds out a tablet for them to see, forcing Bucky to turn out of Steve’s grasp. The screen is frozen with an image of Stark until Natasha taps it into motion.

“ _And I’ve worked with the Avengers, so I know what super soldiers and rage monsters and spies can do. Who else is out there? Keeping track’s a good thing. We all hate secrets, right? And if a guy who calls himself Captain America is willing to go against American laws, then he probably should be stopped. So wherever he and his assassin groupies are – as the new Director of SHIELD, I’m gonna stop him. I’m coming for you, Cap. And the SRA will be the best damn thing to ever happen to this country._ ”

Bucky’s first thought is that Tony’s either been brainwashed or has gone completely insane. Maybe even both. But Steve’s thoughts are a little different.

“Is he being blackmailed?” he asks Natasha, concerned and perturbed by the things Tony said.

Natasha shrugs.

“Doesn’t sound like him,” Steve murmurs. “Does it? You know him better than I do.”

“Not by much, but you’re right. It sounds like more than just a change of heart.”

“Whatever’s going on, he’s in charge of SHIELD now, and if he says he’s coming for you then he’s coming for you,” Barton adds, voicing his thoughts for the first time since entering the room.

“Or he’s trying to draw you out,” Bucky counters. From the looks of Steve’s tense shoulders and the determined set of his jaw, it’s working.

“Then I better not keep him waiting.”

It’s final this time. Bucky can’t stop Steve from charging into yet another fight, which means Bucky will be wading in after him. He drops his fingers from Steve’s belt and goes to turn, catching Natasha’s eye for a brief second as he does, but is stopped by Steve’s firm grip on his wrist.

“You coming?” he questions, but it’s a little tentative, like he’s not sure he should be asking or if he even wants to.

Bucky’s answer couldn’t be anything but yes. “How many end of the lines are we gonna have?” he wonders aloud. “One of our deaths is bound to stick at some point if we’re not careful, and dammit, Stevie, you never are.”

“C’mon, you’ve accepted it by now.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, even though he knows Steve is right, only to be silenced by a gentle press of lips on his, sending a shockwave through his body. They’ve kissed since _that day_ ; just soft, lingering touches, wet or dry and always exploratory, trying to learn their feelings in a new and strange and beautiful way. The fact that Steve is ready and willing to do something so affectionate in front of other people is a thought that leads him to getting lost in the touch. His hand is on the back of Steve’s head, trying to keep him in place, before he even realizes it.

Pulling back, Bucky grouses, “Stop trying to distract me.”

“I’m not,” Steve claims, but the way his pink, wet lips wrap around the words make him sound like a liar.

Then, Natasha practically chirps, “Looks like _you_ had the news worth congratulating.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells her without turning around, keeping his eyes – fierce and maybe a little lidded – on Steve. He has to clear his throat before he asks, grudgingly, “What’re we doing?”

Steve’s hands smooth down Bucky’s back, stopping to rest at his hips. “Let’s find Sam.”

The four of them are on their way to a “friend” of Natasha’s to pick up fake passports before the sun goes down. And hours later, when Natasha passes out their fake identities and Bucky peers over Steve’s shoulder, he’s far from amused to see that they share the same last name. Natasha looks like an evil cat when she grins at him.

__________________________________________

Natasha ends up contacting Bruce, who contacts Thor, who then asks Heimdall to locate Sam Wilson. He’s in California. Running from the law is the only vacation he’s ever going to get, Bucky thinks.

He’s at a beachside hotel, more than likely using a fake name. Bucky offers to sneak into their security room to find him, now that he’s got the experience, and ignores Steve when he demands to know how and when such a thing came to pass.

“He jumped out a window last time,” Natasha says casually, though her eyes watch Steve’s reaction carefully. “To escape Strucker’s mind-control, I’m assuming.”

“Bucky!” Steve hisses.

Bucky glares. “What the hell, Natasha?”

She laughs, nearly snorting. “He’s fussing. It’s _cute_.”

He wonders if she can feel the mental wave of _fuck you_ he’s sending.

She heads in through the front while Bucky sneaks in through the back. The process is pretty similar to before, only faster now that Natasha’s with him. They head towards Sam’s room with Steve and Barton moving to catch up.

The look on Sam’s face when he opens the door makes Bucky smile.

“We got a plan?” he asks, not bothering with hellos.

“Not yet,” Steve says as he moves to stand behind Bucky. “But Stark’s after me now.”

Sam chuckles humorlessly. “Yeah, I heard. Doesn’t seem right.”

“Neither does you coming here without me,” Barton says from behind Sam. Bucky watches him jump and spin around, hears him mutter _what the hell, man_. Barton stays propped up against the open window with his sunglasses perched high on his nose.

“We’ll talk vacation plans later. How did you – never mind. Five stories is nothing for you guys, huh?” Sam turns back around to face them, eyes landing on Natasha, then Bucky, and finally, Steve. He sighs, says, “Help me eat all this pizza and then we can go.”

They stay much longer than it takes to eat the several boxes of pizza Sam had been intending to save so he wouldn’t have to leave his room. A few boxes get eaten by Steve and Bucky alone. Barton tries valiantly to eat one whole pizza by himself but gives up in favor of getting drunk. They all find out that Natasha holds her liquor better than both Sam and Barton combined and if Bucky could get drunk anymore, he’s sure she’d drink him under the table, too.

But their good mood (which wasn’t all that _good_ in the first place, just okay) gets sobered pretty quickly when the television program is interrupted by a news report announcing the capture of Bruce Banner.

Sam can’t believe it. Steve theorizes that, with Stark at the head of SHIELD, he probably designed something to keep the Hulk at bay. Neither of them wants to believe that Tony would betray his friends, especially Bruce. Bucky wishes he could just shut his mind off from this whole mess.

They don’t leave that night, opting – perhaps against their better judgment – to spend it in Sam’s now-cramped hotel room. Sam offers the bed to Natasha, who accepts with genuine thanks, and only lets Barton take the other side when he starts sulking in the corner. Sam also offers to let Bucky and Steve fight over the couch, but they both decline, so he takes it without complaint.

With the stress of their situation, Bucky opts to sleep in the bathroom. The cool tile beneath his cheek turns warm by the time Steve slowly ambles in, jabbing his socked-toes against Bucky’s side as a silent way of telling him to get up. Bucky does, slow and groggy, and watches Steve place a blanket and a spare pillow in the tub, just barely able to see due to the nightlight near the sink.

Steve rubs at his eyes and waits, so Bucky sighs, lifts one leg and then the other into the tub, crouching down to spread out and twisting to lie on his back. He gets settled just in time because Steve doesn’t waste a moment sprawling himself atop of Bucky.

“You’re heavy,” he complains, although his hands yank the big body closer.

Steve settles his chin on Bucky’s shoulder once he knows his close proximity is welcome. His stubble scratches against Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky wonders what he’s thinking. Does he really believe he can make some sort of deal to get Natasha and Barton and Sam off the hook? It definitely won’t help Bucky. Or maybe Steve’s ready to pick a fight with Stark instead of trying to surrender. He can’t tell what Steve will do anymore, but he knows who he’ll stand behind – or in front of – if it came to violence. He hates the thought.

“You scared?” he asks Steve, because he can’t be the only one. They really have no idea what they’re doing or what they’re getting themselves into.

“Yeah,” Steve admits in a whisper. “But being afraid’s never stopped me before.”

_The definition of bravery_. Bucky sighs against Steve’s temple. “If fear can’t stop you, nothing can.”

“You can.” He says it in such a soft voice. Bucky grips Steve’s face between his hands despite their awkward position, forcing some space between them so he can see Steve’s expression.

He makes a face, a little bit amused. “Yeah, right. You never listen to me.”

“I always listen, I just –” Steve shakes his head slowly. “It’s hard to step back.”

“I know.” And Bucky _does_ know. The only difference is that he _would_ step back, would give up a fight if he needed to, has done it a few times where Steve has only done it once, and definitely not for self-preservation. He sets a hand near Steve’s shoulder blade. “I never wanted this, but once you get in, you never get out.”

Steve knows that well, Bucky thinks.

“And if you start runnin’, they’ll never let you stop,” Steve replies, smiling sadly like he remembers something Bucky doesn’t know. “We’re stuck.”

“We really are.”

Steve rolls off Bucky the best he can in the cramped space, manhandling him. Elbows and faces get banged into the tub walls until they’ve switched places, with Steve on his back and Bucky on top of him. Steve moves until his feet are planted against the floor of the tub, his knees sticking straight up, legs spread enough for Bucky to fall between more comfortably.

Bucky closes his eyes for a brief moment when Steve rests his lips against his forehead, scrunches up his nose when Steve moves down to press a kiss there. He flicks Steve’s mouth as retaliation.

“When this is over,” Steve breathes against Bucky’s skin, “We’ll do something. We’ll – you can teach me how to dance, okay? Peggy was s’posed to, but… we never got around to it. And you used to offer all the time anyway.”

Bucky doesn’t like the implications behind Steve’s words. He’s talking like one of them won’t walk away from wherever they’re going.

He clenches his jaw and forces himself to look Steve in the eye. “Sure,” he agrees. “I’m out of practice, but we’ll try.”

Steve nods and the movement is tight, jerky. Bucky grabs ahold of Steve’s wrist, feels the steady heartbeat underneath, the way it flutters when he leans down for a kiss. It’s a little lazy, but maybe not as unassuming as before. Steve pulls his hand up through the hair on the back of Bucky’s head, grips the longer strands near the top. Full lips graze against Bucky’s jaw, prompting him to move a hand up to cup underneath Steve’s chin, fingers pressed against a soft neck. He can feel Steve’s throat bob with a swallow, can feel the wet lips part against his jawline. It’s nearly overwhelming.

Steve lets his legs slide down then, lets them rest against the back of Bucky’s calves. It brings their bodies closer, flush against each other each time they shift even the slightest bit. Bucky tenses up, not with discomfort, but with something he hasn’t felt in a very long time. He didn’t even think he could be aroused anymore, but Steve’s made him feel everything else so it shouldn’t really be a surprise. Even so, it’s like feeling something new.

He twists a little, their lower halves rubbing against each other, and the shaky gasp that leaves Steve’s lips makes a wave of breath-stealing pleasure course through Bucky’s body, his muscles flexing on reflex.  

“Bucky,” Steve exhales. He nibbles Steve’s lip in reply. “My back hurts.”

Bucky huffs against Steve’s cheek, can feel the shiver roll through the body underneath him. “Then get up.”

And Steve does, though he moves his hips more than strictly necessary, purposefully adding pressure. Bucky has to choke down the sound trying to escape his throat.

Steve leaning up means Bucky has to arch back, the expanse of his neck exposed. Steve rests his lips around the skin there and sucks, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. Bucky bites his lip hard, stifling the _fuck_ he almost moans. His heart is racing and his body feels hot and half of him wants to rip Steve’s clothes off while the other half wants to turn the cold water on to wash over them because he feels _so much_. He doesn’t remember feeling something so good and it makes him freeze up.

Bucky doesn’t realize he’s become unresponsive until Steve’s hands grip his face, fingers resting behind his ear and thumbs brushing his cheekbones.

“Hey,” he prompts calmly.

Bucky blinks at the sound and then focuses back on Steve. He smiles a little, a bit sheepishly. Steve’s answering smile is crooked and sweet.

“Sorry.” He pulls back from Steve’s grip to rub his palm against his forehead.

“No, I am. I was going too fast. We should wait to…”

Bucky grins a little, knowing now that Steve was thinking about more than just kissing. It makes him try to explain, “I’m not all the way there yet,” and hope Steve knows he’s not just talking about their intimacy. He’s a lot better, far more recovered than he ever thought possible, but time really does heal wounds – unless his brain decides to screw with him and won’t tell his blood to flow south when (and it is _when_ , not _if_ ) he retakes that step with Steve.

“I’m not either,” Steve admits, and Bucky can’t tell him how much he appreciates the honesty. They’ve both got problems that they can overcome. He hopes the whole SRA mess ends in a way that will allow them to work on fixing the rest of their issues.

Bucky kisses Steve one more time, lingering and almost chaste, before Steve gets them situated on the tub floor again. Bucky isn’t thinking when he wraps his arms around Steve’s middle, like muscle memory that’s suddenly come back. And Steve must not mind because he’s the first one to fall asleep, back to chest, and Bucky can’t think of anything other than _please, don’t take this from me again_.

__________________________________________

Bucky’s surprised that Natasha’s method of waking them up doesn’t involve cold water, but rather the threat of no breakfast if they continue to “waste time cuddling.” She’s far too amused with the development of his relationship with Steve.

But they both rouse at the promise of food and immediately start devouring packages of Poptarts while the news plays a clip of Tony Stark discussing his plans to reinvent SHIELD. It’s bizarre, but Bucky knows firsthand how fast allegiances can change. He just can’t believe or accept it this time.

“ _First order of business as President – uh, sorry… Director of SHIELD,_ ” they hear Tony saying to a group of reporters. “ _That old Nazi with red skeletal features? I built a prison for him. I call it The Cube. Real sturdy. Strong enough to hold the Hulk._ ”

“Something’s wrong,” Steve says, shaking his head like he can’t wrap his mind around this either. “Stark’s obnoxious, but he’s not a traitor.”

Bucky sees Natasha’s deep in thought when he looks over at her.

Whatever’s going on, they’ll find out soon.

They do their best to go unseen as they travel, but people spotting a man with what’s probably a perfect physique (even with scruff and a long coat) who also happens to be surrounded by a group who could fit the descriptions of fellow Avengers isn’t easy to avoid. It doesn’t take long for news sites to start their reports.

They switch cars three times on their way through Arizona, relying on Steve to do the hotwiring mostly because he’s best at it and the idea of stealing several cars makes him more than a little grumpy.

“Did you teach him?” Natasha asks from the passenger’s seat, peering over her shoulder to look at Bucky in the back.

He kicks at the driver’s seat and glances into the rearview mirror to see Steve’s lips quirk. “You kidding? He picked it up in Germany one day. Taught me the same night.”

That piece of information leads Natasha to ask questions about Steve and Bucky’s life before the serum and the war, wanting to know things that no one could have written down. Sam and Barton join in with their own questions, mostly about what they were like growing up and how they _actually_ lived. Steve describes their time like it’s a different world. To a certain extent, Bucky can agree. He adds in information when he’s prompted, but the nostalgia is mostly on Steve’s end. Discussing the past without feeling the weight of it is a good thing.

They stop at a gas station after a while, to use the restroom and get snacks. Bucky doesn’t know how Natasha keeps in contact with everyone during situations like these, but she’s able to get ahold of Maria Hill and ask if there are any jets near Arizona.

Bucky props himself against the car, legs crossed at the ankle, squinting up at the sun from underneath his gloved hand. He looks away after a moment, blinks the spots from his eyes to see Steve striding forward, a coke in his outstretched hand.

Steve rubs his thumb over the damp bottle as Bucky takes a sip from his. “You’ll go in with me,” Steve decides. “The others’ll wait on standby. But if it comes to a fight –” _And it will_ , Bucky doesn’t say, “I want you outta there, okay?”

Bucky’s about ready to smash the bottle against Steve’s head. It wouldn’t hurt him, but it’d send a message.

“Steve –”

“If Tony’s really against us, you’ll need to regroup and go in smarter,” Steve interrupts. “Y’know, I told him to go a few rounds with me before we really started working together. Loki’s magic was getting to us and I was angry… and I wanted a fight. But he wouldn’t put on the suit for that.” Steve turns his head to the side, staring off into the empty distance. “If he’s serious about coming after me then we know something’s not right and you’ll take him down if I can’t.”

It’s the only plan they’ve got.

__________________________________________

The new SHIELD building is large and flashy and has Stark’s name written all over it (not literally, except for one spot where it _does_ say Director Tony Stark). Bucky doesn’t know why the Council or even Stark himself would want to advertise that so thoroughly, but he’s even more curious about how they got the place set up in just the few weeks of being away.

“You know…” Natasha says from over their coms. “Going in there means you’re on their terms. It might be better to let Stark come to you.”

Bucky watches Steve’s reaction as he finishes doing up his suit.

“ _These_ are my terms,” Steve says, slipping the shield onto his back. “Did you get ahold of Thor?”

“Jane says he went back to Asgard. Something about his father.”

Bucky thinks their chances have dropped significantly, but he keeps that to himself.

He looks at Steve from head to toe, makes sure everything is in order after having already checked himself more than once, mostly out of compulsion. Bucky knows they're being allowed to walk through SHIELD’s front door, can feel the eyes of agents outside just as easily as he can inside, where they don’t bother hiding their positions. He holds back while Steve strides forward, confident and strong in his decision. The woman with a gun pointed at his head doesn’t even make him blink. Bucky’s weapons stay undrawn.

“I’m here to see Tony Stark,” Steve tells them. “He’s expecting me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> truth // alexander
> 
> Okay, so I didn't mean for this chapter to take so long! I just got so distracted by Snowpiercer... I mean, I spent like a day watching it over and over and then another day just thinking about it before I realized I should be writing, and then this is the crap that comes out. I thought about scrapping it or trying to merge it with the next chapter, but that would mean an even longer wait and I didn't want that. So here you go... at least there's Steve/Bucky progression, right? And also stuff about the plot, but Steve/Bucky! I'm always torn about how to write this side of their relationship now because I don't want it to come off as something that suddenly doesn't fit within the story or is "too" cute. Like there was one spot where I was gonna put an innuendo from Clint, but I decided this chapter was sort of full of Stucky and didn't want to take it further.
> 
> Anyway, I'm sure you're all confused about Tony. I'll just say this: Don't worry.
> 
> Also, I keep telling myself to add an actual summary to this story but I never get around to writing one. I'm terrible at summaries (I make them way too long) and I don't actually know how to describe what this monster has become. Maybe I'll think of something before the last few chapters, who knows.
> 
> I just want to finish, as always, with a huge thank you to everyone leaving comments and kudos. Your support gives me the best feeling ever. I couldn't keep going without you guys.


	24. you are fragile and thin, standing trial for your sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam flies them down, Bucky’s wide eyes scan over everything. The underground room is full of computers and flashing screens. Steve’s uniform is singed and torn. Tony’s armor is missing pieces, like part of a plate on his side and some of the bits that are meant to cover his fingers. Bucky watches as Tony flies towards one of the larger computers, starting to type on the holographic keyboard frantically, flinching when the shield scrapes against his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Let's run away together, you and me  
> Forever we'd be free  
> Free to spend our whole lives runnin  
> From people who would be  
> The death of you and me  
> 'cause I can feel the storm clouds  
> Suckin up my soul"

Tony keeps them waiting for at least twenty minutes before he strolls through large double doors near the back of the lobby. Bucky tilts his head so he can see him from over Steve’s shoulder. He's wearing his Iron Man suit, a different version than the one Bucky’s used to seeing, and Bucky can’t believe this is really happening.

“Glad you got my message, Cap,” he says, his metal feet clinking with each step.

“Threatening me on the news is a pretty good way to get a guy’s attention.”

“Thought it would be.” Bucky thinks Tony’s smile is meant to be arrogant, but it looks mostly forced. “You here to surrender or fight?”

“I’m here to make a deal.”

Tony hums. “That’s probably above my nonexistent pay-grade.”

Bucky watches the agents surrounding them, trying to figure out if any will attempt to shoot Steve without provocation or if maybe they’re waiting for a secret signal from Stark. He can’t be too cautious.

“What do you do to the people who run?” Steve questions. He keeps his hands firmly on his belt. Bucky keeps his limp at his sides.

“Imprisonment.”

Steve’s head tilts. “The Cube?”

“Nope. That’s special case only.”

“Built for Schmidt or for me?” The challenge in Steve’s voice is clear and it makes Bucky’s fingers twitch.

“How ‘bout both?” Stark answers, and he’s closer now, staring up at Steve with something like defiance.

Steve’s silent for a long, tense moment. Bucky can’t see his face, but he imagines that his expression is full of disdain. No one wants to see Tony like this, against them after they fought together. Bucky had a family once and he has the memories, but not the feelings – not until he became part of a mismatched group of people. Seeing someone you care about (and he does care about Tony, truly) on the side of the enemy is hard. And it must be worse for Steve, who’s already felt this before.

“Well, you can put me wherever you want,” Steve tells him finally. “Just get the Council to let Bucky, Natasha, Clint, Sam, and Thor off the hook. They’ll register and we can end this.”

Tony shrugs. “Can’t.”

“Then we’re leaving. If you wanna try and stop us, go ahead. But I won’t hold back.”

Tony mutters “I’m counting on it” right before he throws up his palm, shooting his repulsor rays. Steve moves just quick enough to get hit in the shoulder instead of the chest, spinning into a kick that throws Tony. He keeps himself airborne, fires again, forcing Bucky into disarming the agents closest to him and then shooting the ones nearest to Steve.

“Last chance!” Steve shouts from behind his shield.

Tony fires a flurry of mini-missiles right at him.

Bucky moves quickly, pressing his back against Steve’s. He knows they should try to draw Tony outside, where Natasha and Barton and Sam are waiting, but Stark seems to have other plans. Steve tosses his shield towards the armor as it flies away from them, attempting to lead them deeper into the building. It makes Bucky wonder what’s inside. If SHIELD’s got Hulk on standby then they’re really screwed.

“Stick behind me,” Steve says. The shield deflects off Iron Man’s back, no doubt denting the armor even slightly, before it ricochet’s into Steve’s waiting hand. “If it all goes south, you take the shield and you run back, you got it?” When Bucky hesitates, Steve stresses, “ _Got it_?”

It’s hard for Bucky to agree, but Steve won’t move forward until he does.

“C’mon, Cap!” Tony shouts as he busts through a set of doors, firing towards Steve and Bucky.

Even with Bucky’s enhanced mental processes, he wishes he could slow down time just to think things through. There’s no point in shooting at the armor, it’d just be a waste of bullets. Steve can try throwing the shield but that tactic won’t last for long, seeing as Tony’s so adaptable.

Bucky shoots at the agents closing in on them while Steve ducks down behind his shield. The only way to get close enough is if one of them could fly or…

Steve’s stronger and Bucky’s lighter, would go farther if thrown.

Bucky crouches down behind Steve, twisting to shoot with his flesh hand as he reaches to grip Steve’s bicep with metal fingers. “Toss me,” he says from over his shoulder, sparing a glance over at Stark. He’s flying away again, goading them forward, trying to lead them to a specific location.

Steve reaches his hand out to grip Bucky’s leg at the knee, pulling up to force him into a standing position as he stays kneeled. Bucky takes the hint and hops onto Steve’s back, legs wrapping up high around the broad torso, his own chest pressing against the top of Steve’s head.

He watches Stark in the distance carefully while Steve runs them forward, both hands holding the shield out in front. It’s hard to get a look at their surroundings while he’s being jostled at such a quick speed, but what he gathers is that there isn’t much in the building. Most of the rooms have clear windows that reveal the emptiness within. But the corridor they’re racing through is being blown up by Stark and they won’t get close enough at this rate.

“In there,” Bucky commands, and Steve turns and slams through a side door without question. “Bust through. Circle around.”

Steve does as he’s told, uses the shield and his strength to smash through all the walls in his way. Bucky holds his arm over his face for cover, but they move so quickly that he doesn’t really need to.

Bucky can see Tony start to turn just as Steve busts them back into the corridor, at the end this time, and then he’s being flung by Steve and knocking into the armor with his metal fist at full force. It gives Steve enough time to leap forward and grip the metal around Tony’s wrists as tight as he can.

“Perfect,” Tony says. “Hey, Hawley? I’m ambushed here. Gonna need that backup.”

“Tony –” Steve tries, but the sound of that familiar roar cuts them off. Knowing the Hulk’s coming after them makes a shiver run down Bucky’s spine.

He gets a punch in the face for not paying attention, sprawls backwards from the strength of it. Bucky’s able to yank Steve back as he goes, forcing himself over the larger body as the building begins to topple with the sudden weight of the Hulk running through, shaking everything around them.

“Bucky, get out!” Steve shouts, scrambling to reach for his shield.

Bucky grabs it before Steve can, twists half around to hold it with both hands, his eyes wide and his chest tight as the Hulk’s fist meets the vibranium instead of his face or Steve’s head below. It takes everything he has to hold it and he yells out, with shock, with pain shooting through his arms, his bones rattling and the metal plates of his prosthetic constricting too tight against his shoulder, whirring in a way that doesn’t sound right.

Bucky can hear Steve shouting _dammit_ , loud and afraid and unlike anything he’s heard before. He can barely make out the call for Natasha and Sam and Barton to _help, please_ , just before he feels arms pressing tight against his sides and hands joining his to hold the shield against the weight of the Hulk.

“Bruce, stop!” Steve shouts, but the huge green fist reels back again, ready to strike down. Bucky can hardly stay on his knees so he lets himself fall, kicks back to send Steve sliding away.

He shuts his eyes and holds the shield above his head with his shaking arms, listening to Steve’s panicked voice, begging Tony to _stop him_. And the Hulk’s fist comes down, but it doesn’t hit the shield. It smashes against the floor, right next to Bucky’s head, making his ears ring and his head spin, and then he’s falling, always falling, and everything’s dark.

But he’s still awake, even as he hits the floor with the rubble falling atop him, mostly blocked by the shield he continues to hold out.

“Bucky!” Steve sounds like he’s choking. “ _Bucky_.”

He starts coughing then, tries not to vomit. He’s had a lot of close calls, but this might just be the worst.

With tears in his eyes from the pain, and blood and soot caked to his face, Bucky starts trying to dig himself out. One arm feels like it can’t be lifted and the other feels only half functional.

“Buck?” Steve says from what must be nearby, it sounds so close. He can feel and hear the rubble being tossed away hurriedly.

“Get Stark!” Bucky shouts in a cracking voice. “M’fine.”

“I told you to go,” Steve calls out, voice muffled. “You fucking idiot!”

Bucky has to laugh at that.  

He can’t see what’s going on, but he can hear Tony’s voice. “Lost your shield?”

“I don’t need it.” And the way Steve sounds – Bucky can only imagine the look on his face.

“Then let’s keep going.”

“What’s your game, Stark? Why’re you doing this?”

Bucky continues to pull himself up through the mess, listening. He hopes the others aren’t attempting to stop the Hulk.

“I’m taking you _down_.”

The emphasis is peculiar.

Bucky sees Steve standing in front of him when he pushes the last of the debris off of himself. He pulls the shield up and reaches out to tap it against Steve, who grasps back to grab it without taking his eyes off Iron Man.

Bucky wants to know what Steve sees in Stark’s expression that makes him pounce first, jumping forward with a shout and a hard swipe of his shield. It connects with Iron Man’s chest and flings him downward, cracking the cement below them. So Steve strikes again, fast, stopping Stark’s counterattack and forcing him farther into the ground. They’re already on the basement level, but if there’s something below… is that’s where Stark wanted them to go? And why? He knows they’re about to find out.

Steve and Tony fall farther down just as Sam flies in. “What the hell’s goin’ on?” he yells, and it feels like he’s been asking that a lot lately. Bucky wishes he had an answer.

“Where’s Natasha?” he questions, leaning back, grimacing at the twinges of pain that follow the movement. “And Barton?”

“Tryin’ to talk Banner down. Are you okay? Did Steve just punch Tony through the floor?”

“Can you get us down there?”

Sam yanks Bucky the rest of the way out, demands to know what happened when he bites down his grunts of pain. There’s no time to explain how he stupidly tried to stop the Hulk from smashing them.

When Sam flies them down, Bucky’s wide eyes scan over everything. The underground room is full of computers and flashing screens. Steve’s uniform is singed and torn. Tony’s armor is missing pieces, like part of a plate on his side and some of the bits that are meant to cover his fingers. Bucky watches as Tony flies towards one of the larger computers, starting to type on the holographic keyboard frantically, flinching when the shield scrapes against his back.

Steve punches the armor like a mad man, grabs onto Stark’s legs when he tries to fly away with the keyboard, keeping himself angled towards the screen. Tony shouts at Steve to _ease up for one minute_ , and he literally means one minute, Bucky knows, because the screen starts to show a flurry of pages popping up with the words FILE TRANSFER and a countdown – 56, 55, 54, 53 –

“What’re you doing?” Steve demands again. He flips up, locks his legs around Tony to slam him down.

“I’ll tell you in –” With the faceplate gone, Bucky can see Tony squint over towards the screen. “Thirty-three seconds. Let go of my hand, I need it.”

Steve scoffs. “You want me to trust you? After what you just did?”

“Well, yeah… What exactly did I do?”

Steve grips Tony’s jaw tight. Bucky has no idea what the hell is going on.

“Banner could’ve killed Bucky! You wouldn’t call him off!”

Tony makes a noise, trying to talk, so Steve pulls his hand away and grips onto his armored neck instead. “He's still working on control. And sorry, okay? But getting down here needed to look like an accident – and I’ll tell you why in 15 seconds! You’re squeezing my legs, _ow_!”

“Are you trying to kill us or not?” Sam demands as he hovers, unsure if he should intervene. “You’re sending some really mixed signals and I dunno what we’re doin’ anymore.”

Bucky sees the screen flash with DOWNLOAD COMPLETE just as Stark shouts, “Hey, _hey –_ Where’s my faceplate, Rogers? I need it!”

Steve looks torn as he holds Tony down, not quite sure if he should be trusting Stark or punching his face in. It’s Steve, though, and his gut has almost never been wrong.

Steve lets Sam go look for the mask, so Bucky stumbles forward and drops down beside them, pulling the shield onto his lap for easy access. Tony peers up at him with something like an apology on his features.

Sam zooms over with the faceplate, hands it to Steve who holds it out for Tony to see. He’s still got his legs and one arm wrapped around the armor.

“Slap it on,” Tony instructs. Steve does, maybe a bit too literally, if Stark’s flinch is any indication. “JARVIS –” he begins, but he doesn’t say anything else for a long moment and it makes Steve restless.

“You’ve got five seconds, Stark. Tell me what’s going on or I’ll do my damned best to end it all right now.”

“It’s worse than I thought,” Tony mutters. Iron Man’s flight systems turn back on and force him out of Steve’s grasp. “Barnes, you got any grenades?” Bucky shakes his head. “Right, okay. So, Rogers, you’re gonna help me blow this place up.”

“Tony –”

“I’ll explain it after – just help me out here. JARVIS, how close are the HAMMER agents?”

Steve looks at Bucky, trying to process everything. His chest is heaving, his face is bleeding, and the look in his eyes is almost wild. Bucky thinks that Steve might have flashbacks sometimes, too, but has no one to help him through, no one to make sure he’s alright. It’s the only job Bucky actually wants and it'll have to wait.

“Right. You two –” Tony points to Sam and Bucky, “Get the rest of the gang out. Fight off HAMMER if you can.”

“You’re gonna blow yourselves up?” Bucky demands.

“We’re gonna fry the systems. We’ll be fine – maybe a little singed, but fine. Trust me.”

Bucky wants to balk at that, but he’s trusted Tony so far and now… now it looks like maybe things aren’t as they seemed. Maybe Tony’s still on their side after all. They won’t know until they do this.

Steve nods at Bucky and, after a moment of staring, of hoping Steve can see and understand everything he feels, he nods back.

Steve drops a heavy hand to Bucky’s shoulder and squeezes. Bucky has just enough time to press a fist against Steve’s chest, lean himself forward until his forehead rests against Steve’s chin. His eyes close when a kiss is placed atop his damp hair. He’s so exhausted, he could just fall asleep right here, but they have to keep moving, always. They can never stop.

Bucky stands, with some help from Sam, and backs away. The last thing he sees before he disappears through the hole in the ceiling is Steve holding up his shield as Stark holds his hands against it, shooting his repulsor rays. The place lights up so bright that Bucky has to close his eyes and keep them that way even as they continue to fly back up to land in the corridors on the ground level.

They spot Natasha sitting on the floor next to Banner, with Barton not too far away, firing arrows to keep a group of agents at bay. When Banner sees Bucky, he rubs at his head and gives a soft, sincere apology. Bucky knows he can’t be blamed.

“HAMMER agents on the way,” he informs them.

“HAMMER?”

If Natasha hasn’t heard of them then they must either be new or a very well-kept secret, and either option points to them being dangerous.

Natasha nods towards Bucky then, asks another question. “What’s going on?”

He shakes his head and drops down beside her, clutching one arm to his chest, pressing the other against the wall.

“Stark was downloading files,” he tries to explain. “I guess he has information for us.”

Natasha looks surprised for only a moment before her expression turns almost warm. “I remember when I was tricking _him_ ,” she says. “Called myself Natalie Rushman. I guess he’s learned a thing or two since then.”

“Guys,” Barton calls out. Natasha and Bucky raise their heads at the same time. “We got visitors. Must be those HAMMER agents.”

“Weapons?” Natasha inquires while she loads her customized gun, pushing herself onto her feet. She pulls Bucky up without him even needing to ask for her help.

“Lots.”

Her expression turns cold, calculating; she’s in the mindset that’s needed. Bucky needs to get there, too.

“Look, I know you sort of acted back in the day, but you’re probably rusty and this was pretty elaborate,” they can hear Tony explaining, his voice getting closer as the agents begin to surround the destroyed building.

“You got Hulk in on it,” Steve counters, incredulous, and Bucky’s so relieved to hear that voice, and even more relieved to see that bruised and dirtied face when Steve rounds the corner. Tony’s by his side, clunking along in his suit. Bucky’s also pretty glad that they aren’t trying to kill each other anymore.

“See, Bruce actually trusts me. All I said was _smash the floor_ and he did. You? I would’ve had to explain the whole thing when I didn’t even know half of it –”

“Why don’t we focus on getting outta here alive?” Barton interrupts, crouching with an arrow at the ready. “Do you have an escape plan?”

Tony taps his metal chest. “Power’s drained.” His hopeful eyes dart over to Banner, who looks tired and resigned. “Hey, at least you aren’t naked.”

“Yes, that’s always an upside.”

But Banner, the good sport, allows himself to change once again, and tries his best to keep calm enough to grab everyone carefully. Bucky feels like a glass doll in the arms of the Hulk. He doesn’t think anyone – except maybe Tony – is comfortable being carted around by a monster that can crush them without a thought. Bucky knows Banner has control, though, and he trusts him. It’s a good feeling.

Hulk rushes through the agents as if they weren’t even there and still has enough foresight to make sure the six humans on his shoulders aren’t bouncing around too much.

And when they get far enough away for the big guy to hunker down safely, Bucky slides right off, the first one to do so despite his injuries. Then they all stumble off after him, needing a moment to just breathe and think before anything else can go wrong.

They can all tell that Steve’s gearing up for an intense lecture.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony mumbles, waving him off. “Help me out of the suit and I’ll explain.”

Steve starts tearing pieces of metal from Tony’s body, giving him a pointed look as he does so. The Avengers surround him, waiting.

“I made a deal,” he starts obviously. “I told Hawley I’d be the face of the SRA if she let me run SHIELD, which I convinced her was all I ever wanted anyway. And I promised to bring in Banner, just to sweeten things up, which is what really got her to agree. The first thing I did as Director was get rid of Schmidt. And before you ask again, _The Cube_ isn’t a real prison. It doesn’t exist. I mean, come on – I’m good, but that’s too much of a miracle. Maybe someday –” Tony grunts when Steve yanks off the armor around his groin.

“Why’d you wanna be Director of SHIELD? What would that get you?” Barton prompts, and Bucky’s glad because he was just thinking the same thing.

“They were keeping files on all the superhumans, even the ones they couldn’t catch – like you guys. All that information in their hands… I figured there’d be more, stuff we didn’t know about. SHIELD, the Council, Congress – they all have their dirty little secrets. Might as well study up. Should’ve been easy, but Hawley wouldn’t trust me around the data. That’s where you came in. I’ll admit it was kind of a longshot, but getting you back here for a fight was the only way it’d work. You’d come find me, try to talk me back over to the good side, we’d trade a few blows. By the way, I think you shattered something in my face.”

Tony rubs at his cheek and winces. Steve crosses his arms, only sort of apologetic.

“Making it look like an accident held off the HAMMER agents long enough to get out, so you’re welcome,” Tony continues. “But here’s the thing; all that crap about vigilantism? They wanted all the superhumans accounted for so they could experiment. Potential recreation. They wanted an army. Like us, but without the free will.”

“If they wanted an army, then they were gearing up for war,” Steve thinks aloud, trying to make sense of all this new information.

Tony points at him, almost manic. “ _Exactly_. That database was full of information about the Council’s involvement with NASA, and all the red flags start around a few months ago.”

“After Insight’s failure,” Steve concludes.

Tony grips at his hair. “And they all involve Hawley.”

Natasha jumps into the conversation, stepping forward to grab everyone’s attention. “There was an emergency meeting when she was supposed to convene with Pierce. He didn’t know about it, that’s why I took her place so easily.”

“Yeah, and I’m guessing she never came back from that meeting,” Tony decides.

Steve, confused, asks, “What d’you mean?”

“The Hawley we’ve been talking to is an alien.”

" _What_ _?_ " Bucky nearly scoffs at the absurdity of it, though he really shouldn't be surprised.

Steve, with all his experience, is a little more accepting. “Not a Chitauri?”

“No,” Tony tells him. “A Skrull.”

“Never heard of ‘em,” Sam adds, mostly as a joke even though he knows the situation they’re in is very real.

“Here’s what I got,” Tony begins, and he tells them everything he downloaded from the database.

NASA had been communicating with an alien known as Captain Mar-Vell, a being from the Kree race. The documents show that he was worried about an intergalactic war after the peace treaty between the Kree and their enemy race, the Skrulls, was violated. He sought help, so NASA sent Carol Danvers, their newest head of security. That’s where her accident comes in, which was really just an experiment gone wrong – or right, in the case of the SRA.

“She’s a half-Kree superhuman,” he tells them, receiving nothing but silence in return.

Infiltrating the government of the people your enemy had communications with and then forcing all superhumans to register so they can be “monitored” when, actually, they’ll be recreated and used as weapons in a war against Earth is beyond genius and also very disturbing.

“A secret invasion.” Tony takes a deep breath. “I’m starting to think we’re the dumbest species out there.”

Steve scrubs at his face. He looks how Bucky feels. This is beyond their imaginations. This is insanity.

“I bet Hawley’s not the only one being impersonated.”

“How do we know we’re all still us?” Barton asks, though he doesn’t sound as worried as his words would suggest.

“That sounds exactly like something a Skrull would say.”

Steve sighs. “Tony, cut it out. Look – we’ll just have to trust each other. Can we do that or not?”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy gazes roaming over each person carefully. Stark speaks first.

“I trust you guys. And I think that says a lot, coming from me.”

Natasha folds a strand of short, curled hair behind her ear. Her lips are slightly pursed before she says, “Same.”

Barton nods and so does Sam, and Banner turning back into himself is proof enough that he’s with them, too.

Steve’s alliance isn’t in question. Neither is Bucky’s.

“You better put our Civil War on hold,” Tony jokes. The strain behind his words is clear. “We’ve got another invasion on our hands and something tells me this one won’t be easy.”

Steve closes his eyes and leans his head back, sighing. “If it’s easy, we’re doing something wrong.”

Bucky nods absently at that.

“So we need a plan,” Tony prompts.

Steve rubs at his head, shuts his eyes tight like he has a headache. Bucky can't blame him; everything seems to fall on Steve's shoulders. “Where’s Danvers?" he asks after a moment. "She’ll know more than that database.”

__________________________________________

Tony says he can view the downloaded data as soon as he can find a power source to get the tech in his faceplate back online. They have no transportation, other than Falcon’s wings, which can only carry two people plus Sam – and the Hulk, but Banner really needs a break.

They all walk forward slowly while Natasha attempts to contact someone, anyone they can trust. Hill and Coulson and even Fury – none of them answer right away, but she keeps trying every five minutes.

“Hey, Romanoff –”

“I’m not carrying you, Stark.”

“Rogers –”

“No.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and trudges on, tugging at the sleeve of his uniform that feels far too constricting around his wounded arm. Steve looks to him for permission before he, as carefully as he can, rips the fabric just enough for it to flap in the slight breeze, giving him some relief. His skin is terribly bruised, which is a good sign and lets him know that his arm is already healing; maybe not properly, but anything is better than nothing.

Natasha’s trying the phone again and her face lights up suddenly, her smile wide even as she breathes out, “ _Fury_.”

She informs them that Fury will send Coulson and Hill to find them and that they better stay out of trouble. Bucky has a feeling Natasha’s paraphrasing Fury’s actual words. It’s probably for the best.

They keep going, ignoring the stares from onlookers. Bucky notices that a few of them are calling the police. And wouldn’t a standoff with the authorities just be a perfect end to this day? Nothing comes to pass, however, much to Bucky’s relief. The jet is faster than the police and the two inside are far more competent. As soon as they all pile in and start their flight to a relatively safe location, Sam asks for a first-aid kit. Coulson points him in the right direction and then Sam’s dragging a very large box of medical supplies out for him and Banner to use, focusing mostly on Bucky, Steve, and Tony.

“Damn, you guys heal fast, but I think your bones set wrong,” Sam tells Bucky, and he cringes at the sight of his arm. “How’d you get hurt this bad anyway?”

Bucky grunts.

“Here,” Steve says as he hands over a cloth. Bucky stares at it for a moment, wary, but opens his mouth and allow it to be pushed in while trying not to gag. Steve reaches for his arm, gives an empathetic grimace while he yanks at it. Bucky’s pained shout is muffled effectively.

“Hey, hey – Buck,” Steve tries to soothe, gripping Bucky’s metal fist as it flies forward to attack. Steve releases the broken arm for Sam to tend to but keeps the other in his grasp, curling his hand around Bucky’s metal fingers. He focuses on the slight pressure of that instead of the waning pain, only then realizing that he’s got an IV sticking out of his skin, feeding him morphine.

He sees Tony lean himself against the wall, arms crossing over his chest, watching the scene with vague interest, looking as if he wants to say something but thinking better of it.

The ride to their newest destination remains mostly silent, aside from Hill and Coulson conversing quietly from the cockpit. Tony insists on going all the way to Tennessee for unknown reasons, only explaining that he’s got a friend that can help them out. When they get there an hour or so later, Bucky’s barely able to keep awake. He thinks he might’ve fallen asleep for a little while at some point because there’s a crick in his neck that’s more than likely from the angle of his head resting on Steve’s shoulder.

The _friend_ Tony was talking about is a child and he’s hanging out inside a place that looks personally customized by Stark himself. Bucky wonders if Tony’s maybe a little crazier than he’d previously thought, if he’s bringing all of these people to hideout with a little boy.

The kid stares at Tony with wide eyes. “You’re back,” he breathes. “I didn’t think you’d come back but you did and – oh, cool, Captain America! And Black Widow, oh my god. And –”

“Yep,” Tony cuts in. “I brought my friends. We’re gonna hangout for a couple of hours, okay? Where’s your potato gun?”

“Are you in trouble again? And you came to me for help? I knew we had a connection! Where’s your suit? Did you – did you put the reflection panels? Oh, what about –”

Tony points at the kid and turns, picking up something random off the desk behind him, turning it over in his hand before tossing it back down. “We’ll talk later,” he promises. And then he holds up his faceplate for the kid’s wide eyes to gaze upon. “You got a generator?”

Bucky keeps by Steve and Natasha and watches as the kid flutters about, helping Tony out the best he can. The kid, who he finds out is named Harley, asks a lot of questions. He makes full eye contact with Bucky when he says, “I didn’t know there were two Captain America’s. Are you- are you, like, his sidekick? Because I’m like Iron Man’s sidekick –”

“Not really,” Tony calls out.

Harley sighs. “I’m the Mechanic’s sidekick.”

Tony makes an ‘ _eh’_ sound and waves his hand in a kind-of motion. “Better.”

“I’m, uh…” What is he, exactly? He still doesn't quite know.

“Bucky’s not my sidekick,” Steve informs. “But I might call him my partner.”

He shares a small smile with Bucky, who returns it, appreciative of the fact that Steve wants him to feel equal. Tony mumbles something from his corner (it sounds suspiciously like _life partners_ ) and is completely ignored.

Harley starts talking about things Bucky thinks a child his age shouldn’t even know, only going quiet when Tony lets them know he’s back online. They watch him put the plate up to his face. The voice of JARVIS is welcomed.  

“Where’s the file on Danvers?”

“The last listed entry regarding Carol Danvers lists her location as Chicago, Illinois, Sir.”

Tony tosses the faceplate to the side and claps his hands, says, “There you go,” before he turns to Harley with a closed-lip smile. “Got any sandwiches?”

The kid ends up making them a platter of sandwiches to share and is sure to tell Tony that his mom’s going to be mad. Tony pulls out his wallet and slides a credit card across the table with permission to use whatever’s left on it, but to wait at least a week otherwise some men in suits might come banging on the door.

Despite the crazy events of the day (the week, the month, the year), their downtime is something Bucky always enjoys. He can just sit and listen to the personal conversations that somehow seem to mingle together, can think about how special it is that this group of people trusts and cares about each other. He’s grown so much because of them. He never wants to forget that.

Harley tries to scoot as close as he can get to Tony when everyone decides they need some rest. Surprisingly, Tony doesn’t say a word about it. It might be endearing, Bucky thinks.

Bucky also thinks that Steve’s hovering. He really doesn’t mind.

They’re lying on the floor with a striped blanket barely able to cover them both. The dark room is illuminated by various glowing lights around the area, which gives Bucky a better view of his surroundings, making him able to see where everyone has placed themselves. They form a semi-circle around the couch. Steve, Bucky, and Sam in the front; Natasha and Barton to the side; Tony, Harley, and Bruce near the back. Coulson and Hill are the only ones separated from the group, taking different positions on either side of the door.

Bucky sighs and twists himself in the dark, ignoring the pain shooting through his arm as he puts weight on it. He needs Tony to recalibrate his other arm in the morning, but he doesn’t want to focus on that now. Instead, he puts all his attention on Steve, who’s staring at him through the low blue-glow light nearest them. Bucky lets his eyes roam across Steve’s face, cataloguing the old looking bruises and the scrapes. He cranes his neck out to press a kiss to Steve’s lips, mindful of the injury there. Steve kisses back instantly, not one bit as careful as he should be, and Bucky knows it’s because Steve’s trying to convey all the emotions that would otherwise go unsaid.

Their kisses are mixed, gentle touches or rough bites that draw blood because neither of them never really knows when to stop. Bucky thinks both of them feel too much sometimes, but maybe that's not always a bad thing. It doesn't have to be, anyway. So they stay pressed together for a long time, speaking without words, sharing breaths through parted lips, feeling heartbeats with fingers resting on wrists.

The nightmares find him, but they don’t stay for long anymore, not when Steve’s there to chase them away. He wonders if he could do that for Steve, too. Bucky hopes he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the death of you and me // noel gallagher's high flying birds  
> also: pretender (winter mix) // ninja tracks  
> revolution zero - passages (orchestra mix) // ninja tracks  
> and just ninja tracks in general
> 
> Well, what can I say about this... Oh, see, I told you not to worry about Tony! C'mon, he's one of my faves, I could never make him anything less than the hero he is. And I had to bring Harley in because I thought their interactions in IM3 were cute. Actually, I was going to add more to the chapter, like introducing Carol, but decided that would fit better next chapter (and I like ending chapters with a hint of Stucky, I guess?). 
> 
> Just a heads up... I'd say there are two chapters left! I can't believe this!! I don't know where this story went, it just sort of progressed naturally - or at least, I hope naturally. I really want everything to feel right within the story, like how much Bucky has progressed and how all these plot points tie together. I know I've said that before, but it's important and I hope I haven't failed. Some of you guys have told me that my characterization has been consistent and that makes me so happy. 
> 
> This story ended up being way more subtle with the Steve/Bucky relationship than I had expected, but I sort of like it that way. It fits better with everything that's happened. And when I do focus on Stucky I don't want it to really stick out from everything, I'd rather have it slip in and be like something nice within all the chaos. 
> 
> I should've said this earlier, but I hope the plot isn't confusing you? Like the whole Civil War thing was being set up but I knew, since we only have so many heroes and that I would never make Tony go against the the Avengers, that it would turn into something else... which is a version of the Secret Invasion. I tried to think things out to tie everything together and this was the only way to go (in my mind, at least). One last big hurrah! I noticed that someone mentioned Hawley maybe being HYDRA, and that was an awesome guess! I had the idea that she'd actually be a Skrull in disguise. I found myself agreeing with Bucky. Like, what?? That sounds so stupid, but you know, there are bigger threats than just HYDRA and there are other alien races out there. 
> 
> And as I continue to ramble I might as well mention, like always, how much I truly appreciate your feedback. Seeing the effort you put into commenting gives me such a happy feeling, as does seeing those kudos. It's so sweet of you guys to say you wish you could leave more kudos, too! This story has taken over my life, pretty much. I'm either sleeping, playing with my puppy, or writing, and getting your feedback is so worth it. 
> 
> So yeah, I was thinking one chapter left, but I'm really striving for two. I need a break, but I'll start writing again probably tomorrow (or later tonight, I have no self control). 
> 
> If you've made it this far, thanks for reading. The only other thing I can think of to say is that I'll need to think of an actual summary for this story by the time I post the last chapter. Maybe then it'll come easier, since everything will be finished.


	25. holding onto yourself the best you can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first Skrull ship touches land and Natasha swallows. “Are we ready?”
> 
> Bucky looks down their long line of people, sees Steve to his left, Natasha to his right. Barton’s beside her, followed by the Hulk. Sam is on Steve’s left and next to him is Tony, his suit shiny and new, and Rhodey, with his patriotic armor. The front contains Wanda and Pietro, and Janet and Scott and Danvers and Strange and Vision, and finally Thor, who is joined at the last minute by his four warrior friends. Behind them sees Hill, Coulson, May, Trip, and even Nick Fury himself, all ready for battle. They’ve got an army of their own. Maybe not as big, but just as good – better and stronger, and okay, they can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "One by one, I know we've seen some things  
> that could've torn us apart, threatened what we've been  
> And I've asked myself, what could be more than this?  
> And if you left me tomorrow, it is all I know I'd miss  
> But I know, keep moving with me now  
> keep moving with me now  
> We've seen the way it's gonna be, the way it's gonna be  
> If you default to the next in line  
> what will be will be for me, I'll just bide my time  
> And I won't regret, won't feel defeat  
> And it won't make any difference, if I'm incomplete"

Harley is a lot like Tony in many ways, and while Bucky finds that prospect scary, he also finds it kind of heartbreaking. When Tony tells the kid that he and the rest of the Avengers need to get going (after he recalibrates Bucky’s arm _again_ ), the disappointment Harley tries to hide is clear and indicative of the fact that he’s lonely. And Bucky knows what that’s like. He figures they all do.

Tony clambers into the jet without promising to come back, so Bucky does it for him. “You’ll see ‘em again,” he says, because he’d noticed the way Harley looked at each Avenger as they disappeared out the door.

But despite all of the qualities Harley shares with Tony, his smile looks more like Steve’s and it makes Bucky want to promise the world to this strange kid. He has to leave before he ends up doing exactly that.

When they get to Illinois (only stopping once for breakfast), they find that Danvers is being kept at an apartment complex.

Bucky, Natasha, and Steve station themselves outside a shop across the street from an apartment, hopefully looking like just a small group of friends drinking coffee and enjoying the cool breeze. It takes Natasha only five minutes to tell them that one man has appeared on the block three times already and is likely one of many agents, quite possibly from SHIELD or HAMMER, monitoring Carol and whoever else is inside.

They can go for the direct approach, which would involve suiting up and storming the building. Bucky, like Steve, thinks it’s not an idea they should entertain unless absolutely necessary. The only thing they can actually do is watch and wait and hope that she’ll come out of the building sometime soon. After all, this invasion could happen at any moment and if it does, while they’re not prepared… There’s not a lot of hope. Bucky can’t force himself to think anything more than that.

It’s while Natasha, Sam, and Bucky are sitting at the bus stop down the street, eyes discreetly focused on the building, when they spot a blond woman striding down the sidewalk.

“Visual,” Natasha informs everyone else over the coms. “East.”

It takes ten minutes for Banner to cut her off and another five for Steve and Barton to get them off the street, back to the jet before any of the agents on guard can react or make a scene in public.

If Harley is like Tony, then Carol is like Steve, Bucky decides. He notices during their discussion (and it is a discussion, not an argument, shockingly) that she’s just as stubborn, determined, and righteous as Steve. Maybe even as temperamental, he can’t quite tell yet.

She gives them what she knows, which ends up being more than the databanks had but not quite as helpful as they were hoping. What she lacks in specific information, however, she more than makes up for with enthusiasm and tenacity to get started.

“Of course I’ll help,” she tells them, fierce eyes roaming over every looming figure before landing on Steve once more. “You’re not the only Captain on this team anymore, Rogers.”

“Yes, Ma’am – um, Captain Danvers,” Steve stutters, and there’s a pinkness to his cheeks that makes Bucky’s jaw clench.

Bucky’s not _glaring_ , he’s just curious as to why Steve looks at Carol like he’s in awe of her. Sort of like how he used to look at Peggy, if he can remember, only less in love…

“You’re cute when you pout,” Natasha breathes into his ear, making his shoulder twitch.

He doesn’t look at her when he replies, “Steve’s got a thing for women in command.”

Natasha has the nerve to laugh at him, but even that doesn’t get him to tear his eyes away from Steve and Carol as they go over plans to bust out Wanda and Pietro and the others.

“Well, _Sergeant_ ,” she says purposefully, and Bucky would tell her _I’m not a woman_ if she didn’t keep going. “He’s looking for someone with shared life experiences,” she tells him with a smirk, faking her thoughtful expression as she backs away. “Growing up poor, fighting a war, knowing what being a human popsicle is like…”

She’s not so far away that he can’t flick her nose, so he does, which earns him a glare that’s both deadly and playful. He’s not fooled, though; she let him do it and that in itself makes him crack a smile.

And anyway, this is no time to get jealous (and yeah, he can admit it to himself, he’s _jealous_ ). His focus needs to stay on the mission.

 “Captain Danvers, Falcon, and Hawkeye are headed for Scott Lang and Janet van Dyne,” Steve explains to his audience after close to an hour of working out a plan. “There’s word that Pym might be with ‘em.” He turns, gestures towards the pair on his right. “Iron Man and Hulk, you go for Iron Patriot and Vision.”

Bucky can see Tony’s eager nod.

Steve turns towards Coulson next. “Stark says Strange is locked up tight. Can you, Hill, and May handle it?”

Coulson gives one of his small, sincere smiles, his eyes darting between Steve and Bucky like he’s got a secret. “I’ve got a guy ready to join us. You’ll like him.”

Steve and Bucky share a quick glance before they get back to business. “I’m with Bucky and Natasha,” he continues. “We’ll get Wanda and Pietro.”

Bucky’s glad for that. After all, he promised that he’d help them out if they ever needed it and he’s not about to go back on his word.

__________________________________________

Getting Wanda and Pietro out of SHIELD and HAMMER’s pockets goes more smoothly than Bucky had expected, probably because they’ve had a lot of practice with undercover teamwork these last several months. There’s even a moment where Pietro looks at Bucky with something thoughtful and almost soft in his eyes before he goes back to staring at his sister like she’ll disappear if he doesn’t pay attention. It makes him feel like he’s done something good.

Hearing from the others is almost like clockwork. Tony reports that he and Bruce have gotten to a safe location with Rhodey and Vision and will rendezvous with Cap’s team in the morning. A handful of hours later, Coulson and his team, now including Doctor Strange, inform everyone that they’re already headed back. And then, finally, Captain Danvers reports in that they’ve got all three of their targets but will need to lay low for a few hours because of the trouble they ran into. Steve asks for regular contact and Sam swiftly agrees.

Bucky wishes he had a distraction, like his knitting, but he doesn’t so all he can do is sprawl himself out on one of the benches in the back of the jet, angling his body so he can see Steve’s head from where he sits all the way in the front. But then Natasha’s there, obstructing his view when she lifts his legs up with one arm and plops herself down, letting his calves rest against her thighs. He notices the bag of candy in her left hand before she holds it out, offering him a handful.

“They’re Barton’s,” she explains, a little smug. Bucky doesn’t know why that convinces him to pop a handful of the fruit flavored junk into his mouth, but he does it with a smirk that matches hers.

They rest there for a while, eating stolen candy and talking about nothing significant. She mentions the uniform Stark had designed for him, which he still hasn’t seen, though she insists that he’ll like it.

“Very retro. Not as many pockets.” She gestures towards his belt where there are, admittedly, a lot of unused compartments.

He shrugs and pops another handful of candy into his mouth. “Don’t really use ‘em.”

If he had smoke bombs and grenades, he’d need a few compartments, but he’s been out of stock recently. So Natasha reaches into her own belt to spare him a few small gadgets. Sharing weaponry; he finds it touching.

He pulls the belt away from his hips and opens the pockets to shove the miniature weapons inside, pausing for a moment when he spots that familiar strip of crumpled paper. He’d forgotten about it, honestly, but it always seems to show up anyway. Natasha notices his second of pause, of course, and leans forward to take a peek, curious as to what secrets are inside. She raises a brow when all she sees is a tiny piece of paper.

She’s fast, pulls it into the open before he can even blink, and he’d be embarrassed if her expression had turned anything but soft like it does now.

“You kept it this whole time?” she wonders, eyes wide and observant. He shifts under her gaze, doesn’t answer, doesn’t tell her how he found it and couldn’t throw it away, had to keep it like it meant something. “I think it’s true,” she says quietly, holding it out for him to grasp, and she’s only a little teasing when she adds, “And sweet.”

“What is?”

Bucky nearly rips the paper when he yanks it from her hands and shoves it away with the small gadgets. Steve gives him an odd look, amused at Bucky’s lack of subtlety, but doesn’t ask anything more. Instead, he says, “Who wants to be my copilot?”

“Bucky needs something to keep him occupied,” Natasha announces as she stands. The look she gives him is so purposefully obvious that he doesn’t bother trying to hide rolling his eyes in reply.

Bucky follows Steve to the front, buckles himself in once he gets there, watches Steve ready the jet from the corner of his eye. They don’t speak until they’re steady in the air, on their way to pick up Coulson and his group.

Steve spares a glance over at Bucky. “Doing okay?”

“Sure,” he answers. “What about you?”

Steve clears his throat and rolls his shoulders. “Fine,” he says, but his hairline looks slightly damp. Is Steve sweating? Bucky watches him intently.

“M’fine,” is Steve’s first instinct, but then he seems to remember who he’s talking to and suddenly his chest deflates with a deep, slow breath. He tries to smile, but it looks forced and unsure. “First time piloting since…” The thought goes unfinished as he tucks his chin down towards his chest.

Even so, Bucky understands.

“Want me to take over? Or I can go get Nat –”

“No,” Steve asserts. His body language makes it clear that he’s trying to talk himself into agreeing with his own answer. “I can do it.”

“I know,” Bucky answers as casually as he can. He shifts a little though, reaches across himself to set his flesh hand on Steve’s forearm. He doesn’t say “ _you’ve got nothin’ to prove”_ because he knows Steve _does_ have something to prove, but only to himself. So instead, he goes for, “And you’re doin’ great, Stevie.”

Bucky feels warm when Steve gazes at him, something gentle and fiery in the blue depths. Sometimes it’s like Bucky just needs to catch his breath when Steve watches him that way, the intensity still too much for someone learning to live again.

They reach their destination without incident. Bucky takes over the pilot’s seat as Steve gets up to meet their allies, readying them for a quick getaway. But it only takes two minutes for Natasha to relieve him of his duties, citing Coulson’s surprise guest as the reason.

Bucky moves to the back of the jet, his eyes settling on the image of Steve shaking some new guy’s hand while his ears pick up on the words, “Call me Trip, Captain Rogers.” Trip’s attention then falls to Bucky as he sidles up next to Steve. The guy’s smile is wide and almost familiar. “Man… Granddad must be dancing up in Heaven, knowing you’re alive, Sergeant Barnes.”

“I’m sorry – granddad?” Steve questions, voice above regular curiosity. Bucky even sees the way he cranes his neck, as if his super hearing hadn’t heard correctly.

Trip smiles even wider. “You guys are the only two Howling Commandoes I never met. You don’t even know how many stories I heard or how many times I heard ‘em.”

Steve looks so _happy_ all of a sudden and, truthfully, Bucky feels himself smile at the mention of the Howling Commandos. They were a family then, he remembers, like his family before and his Avenger family now. He tries not to sour at the thought of how many loved ones he’s gone through.

Steve pulls Bucky along towards the back benches, asking Trip one question after another as they go. Bucky listens because these questions are more personal and the answers aren’t anything the museum would have, or even the files that he knows Steve must have obsessed over.

He asks if Dum Dum kept that stupid hat (so long that he ended up buried with it, he learns); asks when Morita moved back to Fresno, what Falsworth got up to, and did Frenchie keep in contact with Gabe or send them souvenirs from France?

Bucky keeps a close eye on Steve when Trip talks about Peggy and Gabe having a short romance, admires the fact that Steve doesn’t look jealous; he exhales and smiles, genuine but a little sad. Bucky figures there will always be something somber following the fond thoughts of their friends.

“I’ve got some old gear,” Trip tells them. “I’ll show you sometime.”

That’s something Bucky readily agrees to.

But then he stifles a yawn at least three times during their walk down memory lane and Steve has to tell Trip that they all better get some rest.

“Thanks for helping out.”

Trip squeezes Steve’s shoulder and smiles, says, “This is my life. I have to help when I can.”

Steve nods at that and watches Trip head back towards the front, where Coulson stands with Hill, near Wanda and Pietro and a guy who must be Stephen Strange. He’s kind of surprised that Steve doesn’t get up to greet him, that he elects to stay seated next to Bucky instead.

“Get some rest, Buck. You’re gonna need it.”

Bucky nearly snorts. “So will you, punk.”

Steve turns his head and tilts it downward, staring up at Bucky with a raised brow and quirked lips. Then he casts his eyes far enough down that they look closed.

“I should wait up.” Steve’s gaze returns to Bucky’s face, but not to make eye contact, more like to stare at his chapped lips. Bucky licks them, not quite absently.

He shrugs, mumbles, “If you say so,” and stands, popping his back. He’s either got the hard floor, the upright chairs, of the barely-padded benches to sleep on. It’s a hard choice.

Bucky knows that Steve watches him pick a spot on the floor by the bathroom door, watches him pull off most of the uniform until he’s left in an undershirt and pants that are more spandex than he likes. And he knows, without turning to look, that Steve stays on the bench for all of six and a half minutes before he shuffles over, discards whatever pieces of the uniform he can, and scoots until his back presses against Bucky’s.

They don’t say anything, but Bucky reaches behind himself until he can brush his flesh fingertips against the back of Steve’s hand. There’s not a moment’s pause before Steve’s big palm gets pressed tight against his own, fingers intertwining, locked hands dropping down to hide between their bodies.

__________________________________________

There’s a dream where he loses Steve. Not to death, but to distance, to growth and change. Everything that they’ve already been through ends up not mattering anymore. It might just be one of the worst fears he’s ever felt.

Bucky wakes up slow, feeling grim and even more tired than before, as if he hadn’t gotten any rest at all. He tries to move, stops when the arm around his torso tightens. He shuts his eyes and breathes in, breathes out, tries to tell himself that these bad thoughts are only the dregs of what he had been feeling earlier (the jealousy and uncertainty and exhaustion of everything going on).

“Dream,” Steve murmurs. He’s probably still half-asleep, only awoken by Bucky’s shifting. “Wanna talk?” He sounds way too out of it. Bucky smiles.

“No. Go back to sleep.”

“You too?”

He pauses, breath hitching when Steve’s hand splays out against his belly, over the form-fitting fabric of his shirt. The action probably isn’t meant to be an incentive, but it feels like one all the same.

“Yeah,” Bucky answers hoarsely.

Steve’s breath caressing the back of Bucky’s neck lulls him to sleep.

__________________________________________

Tony and his group are back by the time Bucky wakes up, alone on the floor with his upper body covered  by the leather jacket Steve never goes anywhere without. When he stands to stretch, rubbing at his eyes and scratching at his head, a dark skinned man with a pleasant smile, despite his serious demeanor, approaches, his hand outstretched. Bucky shakes it.

“I’m Colonel James Rhodes,” he says, and Bucky gives a tired salute before he can continue, earning a small smile and a friendly salute in return. “But call me Rhodey. Should I call you Sergeant Barnes or James?”

“I prefer Bucky.”

He thinks, for a moment, how strange it is that he _does_ prefer that name now, when not so long ago he hated it.

He meets Stephen Strange after that and finds him, as his name would suggest, _strange_. So he opts to stand with Vision off to the side, comforted by the fact that he sounds almost exactly like JARVIS, though the humanoid has already developed a distinct personality. Vision – or Victor, as he politely suggests they might call him – is more human than a lot of people Bucky has met.

The numbers of his new family seem to keep growing.

Sam, Danvers, and Barton make contact, requesting to be picked up a little while later, so Bucky moves over to sit by Natasha while everyone else keeps to the front. She has a box of mini muffins on her lap and she lets Bucky have a few. He likes the ones with chocolate chips the best.

Danvers doesn’t let them take the jet back to land, chooses to show off her flight ability by bringing Sam and Janet up first, followed Scott and Hank – and Barton, who holds onto her legs. It could be a funny sight, but Bucky doesn’t really feel like laughing.

They’re all together now – plus extra, minus Thor. Steve dives right into what they need to do, not shying away from suggestions. Bucky, like most everyone else, simply listens.

“You gonna make a speech?” Sam asks with a soft smile, obviously referring to something Bucky doesn’t know about. The idea gets Steve thinking.

“The Skrulls are watching?”

Danvers nods tightly at Steve’s question.

And that’s how they find themselves headed back to Washington DC, with Steve shouting at them to suit up and get ready because they’re all about to fight a war. It’s nothing new for Bucky. That doesn’t make it any easier.

What makes it even worse is the fact that, at the last minute, Danvers elects to tell them that President Ellis is more than likely a Skrull in disguise. Bucky hopes no one gets their hands on any evidence showing Steve knocking out the President of the United States, otherwise things might get awkward.

They all crowd around as Stark and Natasha set up the equipment to air Steve’s message out. Anyone with a device capable of streaming live television will hear it but Steve doesn’t look a bit nervous, just collected and ready, and it gives Bucky a proud feeling. This is the scrawny kid he grew up with, the one who never backed down from a fight; the man who faced danger, not fearlessly, but with enough strength and bravery to outweigh everything ready to tear him down; the loyal friend that felt too fiercely. The idiot he loves, always, even when he didn’t, _couldn't_ , know it. If Steve can do this, then so can he and so can everyone. And that’s the message. That’s the truth.

“We’re not your enemies. We’re your allies,” he hears Steve saying, earnest and fierce.  “When our government’s gone, we only have each other. And that means we protect our own. We set aside our prejudices and our hate, our fear, and we step up, because what’ll happen if we don’t? People will die, no matter what. That’s what war is. But if we work together, we can come out of this on the other side. And I’m not asking you to kill, I’m asking you to protect. Please. Protect each other. Protect your family and your friends, your neighbors. Protect the people you don’t even know, because you can and it’s the right thing to do.”

“And just think about it,” Tony cuts in, moving into the shot, clapping his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You can grab your tazers and your flashlights and come after us later.” He makes a face. “I don’t know what angry mobs use these days. But what I’m saying is that us fighting, being the Avengers – we give you that freedom. So help us help you. We’re in this together. As a team. And you know, I found out... that’s not a bad thing. It doesn’t have to be.”

Steve smiles gently at that, eyes on the floor, listening.

“Why don’t we introduce ourselves,” Tony says then, grabbing everyone’s attention, gesturing towards Steve beside him. “This is Captain America. Righteous and brave, so much that it’s kind of annoying. How can you not trust that face? And hey, surprise –” He lunges forward and pulls a wide-eyed Bucky into the shot with them “We’ve got Bucky Barnes on our side. You remember him, right? He died trying to stop Nazis and HYDRA. If you think that’s wrong then you’re probably a bad guy and we’ll be coming for you.”

“Tony –” Steve tries, but the goateed-man just keeps going.

“I’ll make it quick. We’ve got Black Widow. Yeah, she’s a spy, but she puts herself out there like a soldier. She doesn’t have to, so why does she? And then you’ve got Hawkeye and Falcon and the _Hulk_. They wanna help! Why can’t they?”

“Don’t forget Iron Man,” Steve says, solid and standing tall between Bucky and Tony.

Bucky thinks Stark looks sort of flattered. “Yeah, and you’ve got me. So what can go wrong?”

“This team exists to fight the battles no one else could,” Steve adds. “And we will, but it has to be on our terms. So here it is. We know the Skrulls are waiting to strike. Call off your invasion. If you don’t, we’ll fight with all we’ve got and we _will_ win.”

__________________________________________

The Skrulls waste nearly 19 hours before they make themselves known, but they’re arrival is a spectacle. They have huge ships and cyborg companions and some of them are even flying through the air, shifting until their wings get bigger and faster. Bucky stares at the sky with horror and astonishment. A fleeting thought tells him that these fuckers are about to kill them all; that they don’t’ stand a chance, not this time.

He looks to Steve, like he always does, and sees an expression full of shock and fear, sees a man trying to steel himself for what’s about to come. And when Steve looks back at Bucky, there’s no resignation, only something that would be close to _now or never_ if it could be put into words.

He looks to Natasha, sees that she doesn’t try to hide her fear anymore, but that she counteracts it with a raised chin and balled up fists.

He can hear Tony talking to who he assumes must be Pepper from inside his suit.

“What’re we waiting for?” Barton says after another stretch of silent staring. The wave of Skrulls gets closer and closer.

A clap of thunder and a strike of lightning interrupt them for a moment and the relief, no matter how short-lived, is welcomed.

Thor strides forward, red cape billowing behind him, hammer at the ready.

“What took you so long?” Steve asks. There’s a waver in his breath, maybe something like a laugh.

Thor looks more serious than usual, which isn’t out of place given their situation (and whatever’s going on with his father, Bucky remembers), but his small smile is sincere.

“I have gathered my friends to aid us in battle,” Thor says by way of answer. “Sif and the Warriors Three shall be here shortly.”

Well, with a handful of gods on their side, Bucky feels as if their chances have increased. Not by much, but still. Death doesn’t feel as imminent.

The first Skrull ship touches land and Natasha swallows. “Are we ready?”

Bucky looks down their long line of people, sees Steve to his left, Natasha to his right. Barton’s beside her, followed by the Hulk. Sam is on Steve’s left and next to him is Tony, his suit shiny and new, and Rhodey, with his patriotic armor. The front contains Wanda and Pietro, and Janet and Scott and Danvers and Strange and Vision, and finally Thor, who is joined at the last minute by his four warrior friends. Behind them sees Hill, Coulson, May, Trip, and even Nick Fury himself, all ready for battle.  They’ve got an army of their own. Maybe not as big, but just as good – _better_ and _stronger_ , and okay, they can do this.

Danvers had already told them that Skrull skin is tough to pierce, but they’d die like anyone else if they could hit something fatal – like a head or chest shot; it would just take more strength and a longer amount of time. However, they’d need something to blow up the ships and the leaders if they wanted this to end as quickly as it could. They’re hoping Coulson’s base team can figure something out.

It’s hard to focus when there are so many people running around, using their skills or powers to take down as many enemies as they can. Most of them can fly and do so, switching from the ground to air and then back again several times, and those who don’t have that capability have to work even more efficiently to keep from being bombarded. Bucky doesn’t want to think about how much more difficult it is for those without enhanced strength or speed; though he knows they can handle themselves just fine, it worries him.

Wanda and Strange use their magic. Danvers shoots out bright blasts from her hands almost like Tony’s repulsor rays, only stronger and yellow. She’s a powerhouse, knocking Skrulls out of the sky like they were nothing, and he’s glad she’s on their side.

Bucky sticks by Steve, doesn’t wander too far from Natasha either, though she’s always backed by Barton. They jump and swing off each other like monkeys, working as good as a well-oiled machine. And the others rush by, pausing to get a shot in that requires someone else’s help. Tony uses Steve’s shield to reflect a shot back behind him and Wanda lifts Barton into the air, allowing him a better vantage point to shoot a flurry of arrows. Bucky and Natasha even hitch a ride on Hulk, jumping off with their arms around each other and bullets from their specialized guns (courtesy of Trip) hitting their marks before they land. Hell, he even ends up playing a game of shield toss with Steve, which allows them to knock down groups of enemies at a time, even decapitating a few when they get a little overzealous.

They soldier on.

It’s exhaustive and painful. When Bucky looks around he sees that everyone is sweaty and bloody, or dented. The damage to DC and anywhere in close proximity is horrendous to look at, so Bucky tries not to and hopes that people took Steve’s advice, that they’re protecting each other the best they can.

It’s only when nearly half of the group starts feeling drained that the so-called Super Skrull makes an appearance. The urge for Bucky to _kill_ is stronger than it has been in what feels like a very long time.

Bucky doesn’t even notice when they get a weapons drop, not until Barton smacks his side with the butt of a sniper rifle.

“You still sharp?”

Bucky eyes the weapon and then the man holding it, gasping for breath. He smirks when he teases, “Eyes like a hawk.”

Barton barks a laugh at that. “We’ll see, Sarge. Or Hawkeye Jr, if you prove your worth.”

Bucky snorts and grabs the gun, gravitates towards Steve even as he lines the scope up to take a shot. He hits the big Skrull right in the face, above his eye. It doesn’t seem to hurt the alien, but it does get his attention. Bucky squares his shoulders and resists the urge to back down.

Everyone’s attention is momentarily drawn to a very large ship that appears out of nowhere, suddenly crash-landing atop one of the smaller Skrull transports. They all look to each other, unsure of what to think. More enemies? _Different_ enemies?

And the a group of – well, there’s maybe three people, from what Bucky can tell, but only one might be human. There’s a guy with a weird mask, a green-skinned woman, a guy with veiny arms, what looks to be a humanlike tree, and a small raccoon carrying a machine gun. Bucky can’t help throwing up his arms in shock and exasperation. From the corner of his eye, he sees Tony do the same thing.

 “Um, we’re kind of in the middle of something,” Tony says from inside his scratched up suit. He keeps his arm outstretched, missiles at the ready. “Who are you?”

The guy with the mask makes a noise. “Come _on_. No one knows?” He’s met with silence. Even the Skrulls look confused (and with their faces, it’s hard to tell). “We’re the Guardians of the Galaxy!”

“Never heard of you.”

The guy scoffs at Tony. “Yeah, well – who are _you_?”

Tony turns in his suit, gesturing around as if he were showcasing something. “Earth’s mightiest heroes.”

“Never heard of you,” the guy echoes, but there’s something tight in his voice. Bucky swears he hears the raccoon utter a string of curse words, though he can’t be sure. But then the guy rips his mask off, revealing a very human looking face, and shouts, “Okay, fine! I know who the Avengers are! But you guys seriously haven’t heard of us? I’m Star-Lord!”

Before anyone can reply, the Super Skrull roars out something that could probably be _ENOUGH_ if it were human. And then the action’s back on, the odd group known as the Guardians of the Galaxy fighting on their side.

__________________________________________

He doesn’t like the images in his mind resurfacing after prolonged exposure to things he’d like to forget (he wants this fight to be _over_ , he wants to be done), but he hates the way Steve looks even more than the darkness shading his conscience and the screams ringing inside his ears.

They’re all covered in dirt and blood and alien guts, all blind and deaf to everything outside of the warfare around them.

Natasha holds her arm like she might’ve broken it and Steve ignores the gash on his side. He can’t even begin to catalogue the injuries of every friend and ally. In fact, he can’t even notice when new things occur apparently, because two more people have joined the fight and from the looks of them, they’ve been at it for a while. Bucky’s obsession with the safety of Steve and Natasha, and even himself now (if he goes, Steve would be in good hands, but he’d rather stay alive and watch the punk’s back himself) makes it hard to pay attention to the bigger picture.

“Who’re they?” he grunts out at Natasha while jamming his fist through an alien skull. It’s not her that answers, but Barton.

“Big guy’s called Luke. Ninja guy’s called Danny.”

A sudden, huge explosion from behind knocks anyone in close proximity off their feet.

“Hey, Tasha?” Barton manages to get out between coughs as he rolls himself over. “If we don’t die, you wanna go to Budapest again?”

Natasha laughs, light and honest and a tad panic-stricken. It makes Bucky wonder about the connection between Barton, Natasha, and Budapest. Maybe he’ll find out later. But for now, as he rolls onto his back, rubble digging into his shoulders and sides, and looks up at the sky, he sees Danvers darting over, smoke in her trail. Bucky cranes his neck until he can see her drop down next to Steve, her gestures almost excited. He taps his foot against Natasha’s leg, pointing in their direction when she looks over.

When the three finally reach Steve and Danvers, they hear part of the topic being discussed.

“There’s no other way?” Steve’s strained voice questions.

“This is the only thing we’ve got so far. And I feel like this is partially my fault –”

“It’s _not_.”

She smiles slightly. “Well… I can still do this. And I’m going to.”

Steve sets both hands on her shoulder, his gaze heavy as he says, “Thank you.”

She gives a nod, still smiling, and salutes him enthusiastically.

“But…” the guy named Danny starts, his hand rubbing against his masked face. “Won’t you die?”

“Probably,” she says, almost fearless. “But we don’t have any other options.”

“Maybe not,” Danny replies and he shares a meaningful look with the big guy called Luke.

“Danny, wait –”

“We don’t know everything I can do,” Danny tries to explain. “I can absorb energy. If she can do what she did to that ship back there then maybe I can multiply it. And you know, we were thinking I’m pretty indestructible, right? Let’s test it out.”

“You’re crazy,” Luke says, but it’s sort of fond and resigned.

And so it’s settled. Carol will try to create as much energy as she can, enough to blow up the main Skrull Ship, and pass it on to Danny, who will ( _insanely_ ) implode so as to save the world. And he might even survive, they say.

Bucky thinks he feels a blackout coming on.

They’re able to tell Tony and Rhodey and Sam about the plan before Danvers darts off, fighting hard and absorbing some sort of magical radiation from Wanda and Strange. Bucky notices the way she starts to glow this time, how much faster and stronger she gets with each movement.

“Rhodey,” Tony says, eyes trained on Danvers even as the battle around them rages on. “Tell JARVIS to play my song.”

“Tony –”

“My speakers are fried. And as my friend, it’s your duty to help me with my problems and right now you can do that by playing my music.”

That familiar guitar riff makes itself heard through Rhodey’s red, white, and blue suit then, gaining the attention of everyone around them as it echoes. Bucky and Tony turn to look at each other at the same time, expressions slowly morphing into matching smiles.

“Take a ride with me?” Tony asks. His words sound so absurd, but what really gets Bucky laughing is the scoff coming from Steve at his side.

“What the hell,” Bucky decides, and lets himself be grabbed by Stark.

Then, “C’mon, Cap,” Rhodey says wish a sigh, though he doesn’t sound _too_ put off.

Iron Man (after his second repower, thanks to Thor’s lightning) shoots off through the air with Bucky hanging from his middle, Rhodey and Steve and the music trailing behind them.

_I’m gonna pull it, pull it, pull the trigger. Shoot to thrill, play to kill. Too many women, too many pills. Shoot to thrill, play to kill. I got my gun at the ready, gonna fire at will…_

They circle around, warning others about the oncoming explosion, making sure they get away as fast as they can. But Danny absorbs the energy and the explosion happens in a rush of hot, blinding light and fire and a loud, high-pitched screech. Bucky can’t hear anything, not even his own thoughts.

________________________________________

Bucky is disoriented when he opens his eyes, confused by the low ceiling he’s staring at even though he’s not sure what he should be seeing in its place. His bones pop painfully when he shifts, so he closes his eyes again and grimaces.

There are hands on him then, making him tense up, but the fact that his eyelid is being lifted so a light can shine inside gives him a better understanding of what’s going on. It’s Banner’s face in his view when he’s able to see right again.

“I think you’re fine,” he tells Bucky, that familiar and awkward smile taking over his mouth. Bucky tries to sniff, feels like he can’t breathe through his nose. Banner notices. “You probably smashed your face when everything exploded. Nothing’s broken, but you might have some clotting.”

“We on the jet?” he asks stuffily. Banner nods, presses his hands over Bucky’s face and then his sides, checking for injuries that might still be present. Bucky takes a moment to look around the room, sighing a little when he spots Natasha curled up on the bench across from them. But then his brows furrow. “Where’s Steve?”

“Finishing up. They found the real President. Hawley, too, and a lot of trapped citizens. All in the ship the Guardians crashed into.”

Bucky shakes his head at how fateful that seems. The action makes his nose start bleeding again, so Banner hands him a tissue. He pinches his nose with it, tilting his head back to stop the blood.

“Is, uh… that Danny guy –?”

“There’s no trace of him, but his friend Luke seems optimistic.”

Bucky nods, mumbles, “That’s good,” like a comfort to himself.

Banner hums. “Steve’s with Carol and Rhodey. They’re trying to explain everything that happened.” He makes a noise that sounds sort of like disbelief. “I don’t envy that job.”

Bucky doesn’t either.

“But everyone’s fine,” Banner continues as he stands, sliding his glasses from his nose to his shirt pocket. “So get some more rest. I don’t need a lecture from Captain America when he comes back and finds you running on fumes.”

And Bucky listens to Banner, just because he’s been so kind and doesn’t deserve Steve’s disappointment.

He pokes Natasha in the back before he goes back to sleep, to reassure himself. She curses in Russian and curls farther in on herself, and that’s all Bucky needs before he conks out again, bloody tissue stuck up his nose and mouth agape.

________________________________________

Bucky’s not on the jet when he wakes up, but in a spacious room with sunlight peeking through the blinds and a large body curled up next to him. The blond hair looks a little darker in the sunlight, like its changed over time and Bucky’s only now noticing it. His first real, coherent thought is that he wants to be there for the rest of the changes in Steve’s life, no matter how big or how small.

He plops his left hand atop of Steve’s head, curls his fingers around the hair and notes that it’s getting long. Steve shifts into the touch, murmurs a sleepy, “Hey, Buck,” but doesn’t try to look up or move. A soft snore comes only moments later.

They did it, Bucky thinks. They actually fucking did it.

He wipes his other hand against his dry mouth before moving it up to rub at his eyes. Gosh, he’s sore, but at least he doesn’t feel so tired anymore.

Bucky pulls his hand away from Steve’s warm head after a moment of internal debate and moves to stand, stretching his tight muscles, yawning widely. He can hear faint clattering coming from somewhere outside the room they’re in.

The kitchen is _full_ of people, he comes to find (and he’s also relieved that they’re back at the invisible safe house). The table’s too small to seat everyone, so its pushed to the side to give more floor space, allowing the group to clutter together at random spots that still somehow makes up an oddly shaped square.

Thor notices him first. He seems more chipper this morning, quite possibly because of the woman snuggled up against his side. “Bucky!” he calls out, gathering everyone’s attention. “Have you tried this wonderful thing called Lukcy Charms?” His warm smile gets replaced by a look of surprise then and adds happily, “Oh, and I am glad to see you recovering from battle!”

Natasha leans her head back to look at him at an upside-down angle, her smile crooked even with the bruise on her cheek. “Steve still sleeping?”

Bucky nods, keeping his gaze away the more curious stares.

“Well he won’t be for long,” Sam cuts in, grinning at Bucky while he slaps dripping bread into a pan. “I’m makin’ French Toast. I bet he’ll be up in five minutes.”

And Sam’s proven right when Steve trudges in four minutes later, looking tired but otherwise okay. Bucky sees him visibly perk up when he sniffs at the air.

Tony scoots away from Bucky without anyone having to say a word, making room for Steve to plop down between them. Bucky swears Tony winks at him, but it (like many of Stark’s actions) goes ignored. The warm, sleepy smile that Steve directs specifically at Bucky, however, gets thought about for the rest of the morning, probably even for the rest of the day. He decides then that it’ll be a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keep moving // the boxer rebellion
> 
> also, making another appearance: shoot to thrill // ac/dc 
> 
> Okay, soooo... this took way longer than it should've. Like, I mean it took me two days (maybe two and a half) to write and the rest of the days were just me being lazy and unable to get anything down. It feels sort of rushed, I'm thinking. I was going to add more to this chapter, but I felt like this was long enough and that the last scene I intended to put in would be a good opening for the next (and LAST) chapter.
> 
> I repeat: next chapter is the last one! I can't believe it! I'm both excited and sad, so I hope you guys are feeling something similar. And I'll tell you right now that the final chapter will pretty much just be steve/bucky fluff, so I look forward to writing it. :) Also, I had a couple ideas for some oneshots for this universe... maybe I'll write those out sometime, if you guys are interested.
> 
> I hope this wasn't a disappointing update. It just took me so long to get down and I wanted it to be good, but I really don't know how it came out. There are so many characters that I wanted to put in but I'm not too familiar with them all and even if I tried to give them scenes, it wouldn't work. I felt like I was lagging on the pace as it was, but anyway. Like I've said before, this sorry has just evolved so much and I'm very pleased you guys have stuck around. Oh, and the return of the fortune!! I just can't leave that alone.
> 
> The final note I always write out: Thank you so much for the support! Your comments make my day each time. :D


	26. you are the smell before rain; you are the blood in my veins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve whistles as they walk and though Bucky doesn’t really recognize the tune, it sounds like something old, something from their time. His eyes curiously flicker from Steve’s relaxed expression down to their hands when their fingers lace together. Public displays of affection are unusual for them; actions that can be construed as anything other than friendly are nonexistent, really. But here they are, holding hands as they walk the streets of New York, uncaring and unembarrassed, like it’s been this way forever. It could be, Bucky thinks. It could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I saw the sun again  
> And I was happy to be there with my one true friend  
> Until the very end  
> And when the sun had gone, we said goodbye to the day  
> And then we carried on  
> We carried on, we carried on, we carried on..."
> 
> &
> 
> "You said you don't have to speak  
> I can hear you  
> I can feel all the things you've ever felt before  
> I said it's been a long time  
> Since someone looked at me that way  
> It's like you knew me  
> And all the things I couldn't say"

Bucky doesn’t want to meet the President of the United States, especially not after he just helped destroy part of Washington DC, but Steve pulls out the puppy-dog look that he’s unaware he even has and says, “C’mon, Buck. Please?” and Bucky can’t say no again. (And really, it’s a miracle he managed to say _no_ at all.)

But he’s not the only one being accosted, just the only one being begged personally by Steve. He smiles despite himself.

They’re all supposed to go in their uniforms and before Bucky can worry about whether or not he should be wearing the Captain America suit, Tony pulls him into the lab with a promise of something great.

“I went through three different versions. That’s why it took so long,” he explains to Bucky between chewing mouthfuls of blueberries. “Your Russian twin said you’d like it, so take it up with her if you don’t. But –”

Bucky watches Tony stride towards something around his height, a mannequin covered with a tarp. He blinks as the tarp gets flung to the floor.

It’s surprising, really. He’d seen a replica of the coat at the museum (knows it’s a replica because he fell with the original and never saw it again after). But this version is different, thinner and made of various materials, probably Kevlar and spandex and leather. It sort of reminds him of what he wore as the Soldier, only blue and more quilted and with a perfect balance of straps and buttons. In fact, it looks more like an amalgam of three suits; the one from the war, the one as the Soldier, and his version of the Captain America costume.

The torso only has one arm. The opening for his left has fabric that extends out more over his shoulder, dipping down in a way that could cover the red star if he wanted. The collar stops under the jaw, with folds pointing down, attached to shoulder pads. And then he notices it…

Instead of a star in the middle of his chest like Steve’s uniform, there are two large wings pointing in opposite directions. They’re silver and outlined in shining red, imbedded into the uniform top.

He bites at his thumb and steps closer, side-eying Tony as if waiting to be reprimanded. Tony only smiles and tells him to get a closer look, so he does.

The right sleeve moves seamlessly into a black fingerless glove, which folds down and detaches, he sees when he reaches out to graze his fingertips over it. He also notices that, true to Natasha’s word, there aren’t quite as many compartments on the thin black belt that separates the blue on the top from black bottoms. Bucky circles around, observing the knee pads and the blue paneling that starts at the sides of the knees and continues up, disappearing underneath the belt.   

The pants look form fitting, but not restrictive, and the boots are made for combat, not unlike the ones he usually wears these days. Maybe more streamlined despite trying to keep the bulky look. They have red accents to match the wings and, when he circles back around towards the right arm, he sees that there’s an A symbol in the same shade.

There’s also a black helmet with matching silver and red wings on the sides atop the mannequin head that Stark explains he added for safety reasons, but that he can swap out with an eye mask if he’d prefer. Bucky can’t answer, is too focused on the small details, like the holsters on the thigh and on the back of the shoulder, or the small zipper pocket near the kneepad that could be used to hide anything of his choosing (right now he thinks of chocolate or maybe even that stupid strip of paper).

“So?”

Bucky scratches at his head and takes a step back, allows his eyes to get one final full sweep of what will be his new uniform. He likes it. He really does.

He makes a swift turn and strides towards Tony in three steps, not letting himself think as he pulls the shorter man into a one-armed hug. Tony lets him and after a brief moment, even hugs back.

When he steps out of the lab and heads out towards the living room, every part of uniform fitting perfectly, he feels – _finally_ – all the pieces of himself lock together. He’s not HYDRA’s weapon or Steve’s replacement or just another version of a man long ago dead. He’s Bucky Barnes, the real one, evolved like everyone else. He’s got scars and nightmares and trauma he might not ever be able to erase, but he’s got friends now, too, and a family. He’s got Steve. This is who he is. This is who he can be proud of.

________________________________________

They meet the President in front of the half-destroyed White House, though Ellis doesn’t really seem to care about the mess. Bucky bets he’s just happy to be alive.

He shakes Steve’s hand and then Bucky’s, moving down the row of chairs to greet each Avenger personally. They’re gathered here for some secret announcement involving Steve. Part of Bucky thinks they’ll all be ambushed and locked away.

Bucky sits beside Tony and watches Steve stand beside Ellis, tall and at attention, while the President summarizes the recent tragic and destructive events for the public. And then they find out the real reason behind the whole thing.

“And today it is my honor to appoint Captain Steven Rogers as the new head of security for the United States.”

Steve is the only one really surprised, honestly, and his deer-in-headlights look is pretty adorable.

“Mr. President, Sir, I couldn’t – I mean, I’m not the only one… I’m part of a team and I don’t –”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” President Ellis says gently. “But with everything we discussed yesterday, _you_ are the man for this job. If you’ll have it, of course. You’ve proven your worth time and time again, Captain, and I believe America can rebuild and thrive with you in charge of our security.”

Steve tries to glance discreetly over towards the Avengers off to the side, looking for some help. Bucky thinks Ellis probably should have told Steve about this beforehand.

“Could we repeal the SRA?”

 Ellis nods. “We could, Captain.”

“And if I accept this position, will I be allowed to work on my own terms?”

“You’ve earned that freedom and our trust.”

Steve looks to the Avengers one more time, no doubt able to see the short nods of approval from several members of their team. The sudden cheering from the crowd as Steve declares, “I’ll do it, Sir,” is almost deafening.

They stay in DC until the evening, each of them trying to help the long process of cleaning up after the battle. Most of the alien bodies had already been disposed of, leaving parts of ships and chunks of buildings, glass and metal and stone littering the streets. They spot Danvers helping reconstruct the White House and Pietro clearing pathways for civilians. Some of their other allies are scattered around too, but it’s the core group, the people he’s cared about for months that leave together for a break, taking a train from DC to New York. Bucky notices the nervous glances Steve keeps throwing at him, doesn’t understand why right away. When he does get it, after a few minutes of thought, there’s no real reaction. He still has nightmares sometimes, about blood and snow and metal; train tracks and Steve and falling. But they’re just dreams now, not all-consuming like before. And this is just a train. _It’s just a train_.

He breathes in deeply through his nose and reaches out to grip Steve’s hand, squeezing it gently. He can’t remember Steve ever looking so proud.

All of them, aside from Banner, are in their full Avenger uniforms, but they don’t bat a lash at all the wide eyes directed their way and even Bucky ignores it without much difficulty.

It’s as they’re walking through Times Square that Tony mutters, for what must be the tenth time, “I don’t get it. You fought the law and… _you_ won? Public Enemy number 1 becomes Public Protector number 1. Unreal, Rogers.”

“I think it’ll be a good thing,” Natasha expresses.

Bucky hums in agreement. “You can do everything you always do and not get arrested.”

Steve’s smirk spreads across his lips slowly.

Tony groans. “I bet you’ll make all your G-Man buddies wear spangly outfits.”

“I can’t do that,” Steve laughs. There’s a short pause before he amends thoughtfully, _jokingly_ , “I don’t _think_ I can do that.”

“Better watch it, Stark,” Natasha teases. “Steve might make _you_ wear the flag on a daily basis.”

“If it’s the actual flag and nothing else, then I wouldn’t mind.”

Bucky makes a sound of playful disgust.

“You know what you should do? Bring back the USO shows.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at Clint and mutters _here we go again_ , and Bucky has to laugh. He even finds himself agreeing.

“That’s a pretty good idea, Stevie. Never got to see you perform.”

Steve’s blush is delicate, barely there, but Bucky can see how the tips of his ears turn a rosy color. Besides, Steve rubbing at them isn’t exactly subtle.

“And I’m just saying, if you’re ever short a chorus girl, I could fill in. Wouldn’t be a big deal or anything.”

Natasha bites her knuckle to keep from laughing.

“I’m serious! I was in the Circus, I know how to entertain!”

“Thanks, Clint,” Steve says with a smile that’s half amused and half sincere. “But I never really liked that part of the gig.”

“Your loss,” says Clint, a grin on his usually stoic face. Bucky’s not too sure about that exactly, but hey, he could be wrong.

“Speaking of loss…” It’s Sam this time. He looks pointedly at Steve. “This mean you’re quittin’ the team?”

Bucky hadn’t really thought of that. There’s a moment of panic when he thinks that it _does_ mean Steve’s quitting the team, which in turn means that Bucky will have to leave too, and he doesn’t really want that. Choosing Steve over the Avengers is hard, but not a choice that’s in question. He just…

“No.” Steve makes a face, snorts as if the thought is ridiculous. Bucky relaxes. “I’ll be around if you need me. I’ll be there even if you don’t.” His smile is dorky and endearing.

“But someone’s gotta be in charge, right? I mean, I get that you guys sort of just went your separate ways before, but now? After all the shit we’ve been through? We should stick together.”

Bucky finds himself nodding along to Sam’s words. He wants to express his own thoughts, but can’t quite work up the courage.

“I’ll rebuild the tower,” Tony decides. “I get some help?” He throws his hands out, expression pleased. “Done in a month.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Steve promises for all of them. No one even thinks to object. “And that goes back to what Sam was saying. Your tower, your rules. You should lead.”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa there, Homeland. We’re all our own leaders. And there’re a ton of us now… We can send out squads, right? And in the event of the next attempt at world domination, you’ll be around to get us going.”

Steve looks to their small group, trying to get some feedback. Natasha shrugs, sees no problem with Tony’s plan, and neither does Bucky.

“Sounds good to me,” Barton declares. “Now can we stop up here? A couple of lazy jerks ate all my candy.”

Natasha and Bucky share a conspiratorial look.

They decide to stop inside Brooklyn Diner for a late dinner. They’re seated without a reservation, which Steve feels bad about but accepts, silent and grateful. He also apologizes to the waitresses in advance, warning her of possible boisterous behavior, spilled food, and damaged property. But Tony insists that they’ll be good little boys and girls. He isn’t lying. The worst thing to happen is Thor’s hammer cracking the bench he sets it on, his excitement over trying more new foods overwhelming him for a moment.

It’s late into the night (or early into the morning, Bucky can’t tell and doesn’t ask) when they leave, their quiet laughter turning loud once they hit the cool city air. Bucky stares at his friends in awe through crinkled, smiley eyes, and wonders what exactly he did to deserve something so great. He looks to Steve on his right, bumps their shoulders together and revels in the fondness and warmth radiating from his best and closest friend. Bucky won’t question the universe ever again.

They clamber inside the cloaked safe house, full and exhausted and actually _happy._ He knows, of course he does, that this won’t last forever, that something else is bound to happen in their lives because that’s how it works. But it doesn’t matter. Not right now.

There’s a chorus of _goodnight_ ’s and _see you in the morning_ ’s as they each go their separate ways, disappearing into different areas, behind closed doors or not. Steve leads Bucky to the room they had woken up in the previous morning instead of the one they had shared before and he’s relieved that he’ll be able to appreciate the bed this time after such a long period without one.

Bucky takes his time shedding the uniform, cherishing it in a way that he hasn’t done with much else, hanging it in the closet instead of folding it to place on the floor or in the dresser. He doesn’t know where his clothes are so he’s stuck in his boxer shorts, which are tighter than usual to accommodate the form-fitting pants. He’s not too bothered by it and, he can see, neither is Steve.

The room is cooler than the rest of the house, just the way Bucky likes it, but he still slides underneath the covers with Steve. He’s come to enjoy the soft weight of the blanket against his waist and legs almost as much as the feeling of Steve curled against his side.

They shift to get comfortable, feet kicking and elbows bumping until they settle. They lay there silently, heartbeats settling and breaths evening out. Their lips meet in the dark, lazy and sleepy, barely a kiss, until they both let sleep take them under.

________________________________________

Bucky participates in the reconstruction of Avenger Tower every day for three weeks because he wants to help and has nothing better to do. Steve helps nearly as much, but what keeps him away is his new responsibility of being the head of security for the United States. He’s told Bucky that they have a lot of meetings for now, trying to work out the details before anything gets set in stone.

He’s spent 10 hours building a wall on the east side by the time Steve shows up at the tower, eager to do something with his hands after a day of sitting, listening, and negotiating. Bucky sits back with a beer (he likes the taste and how normal it feels to drink) and lets Steve dive into the unfinished job, taking a moment to relax and enjoy the view. He mentions that last part to Steve when he gets up to grab one of the many chocolate bars littering to floor and gets a kick to the butt in return.

Bucky’s sweaty by the time he steps out into the night, having gone back to helping Steve finish the wall, but the misty air feels nice as it caresses his face and seeps through his thin t-shirt, making him shiver. He slings his jacket over his shoulder and allows himself to match Steve’s leisurely pace. They’ve been doing this the last week and a half, taking the long walk from the tower to the now uncloaked safe house rather than riding in one of Tony’s cars. It makes them even more tired, which lets them fall into a sleep so deep that they can’t remember if they have nightmares.

Steve whistles as they walk and though Bucky doesn’t really recognize the tune, it sounds like something old, something from their time. His eyes curiously flicker from Steve’s relaxed expression down to their hands when their fingers lace together. Public displays of affection are unusual for them; actions that can be construed as anything other than friendly are nonexistent, really. But here they are, holding hands as they walk the streets of New York, uncaring and unembarrassed, like it’s been this way forever. It could be, Bucky thinks. It could.

Steve stops whistling after a while, starts talking instead. “Are you gonna stay in the Tower again, when it’s done?”

Bucky furrows his brows and glances over. “You goin’ somewhere else?” he asks, confused.

“I was just thinking long-term. I know we talked about this before and you were kinda leaning towards staying in New York, right? I’ll be spending a lot of time in DC… Commuting’s not exactly a problem, but I was thinking of going back.”

Bucky rubs at his cold nose, trying to think. Steve must take the action and the silence as a sign of distress.

“You could stay here, you know that, right? They’re good for you and you’re real good for them, too. So you could stay and –”

“And _what_?” Bucky interrupts, turning his head to get a better look at Steve’s face as they continue to walk. “You’ll call?”

“I’d wanna see you every day,” Steve admits, but there’s nothing sheepish about it.

“Then you might as well stay here,” Bucky says with a shrug. He watches the way Steve scratches at his head, squinting slightly. “Or I’ll just go with you,” he adds, because there’s no way they’re going anywhere without each other.

Steve looks torn. “Bucky. Don’t make sacrifices for me.”

He shrugs, swings the jacket from over his shoulder and up und under his arm. “Look, those guys are family. I can go a few days without seeing them. But you’re…” He takes a deep breath, swallows. Despite the way they act around each other now, feelings are still hard to express fully. It’s something to work on, he decides. Maybe he can even start now. “They’re all important,” he states honestly. “But I guess you’re just a little different.”

Steve smiles. It’s sweet, a little smug and a little teasing. But there’s seriousness there, too, especially when he asks, “So you’re sure? You wanna find a place with me in DC?”

_That little guy from Brooklyn who was always too dumb not to run away from a fight? I’m following him._

“I’m following you.” He pulls his hand out of Steve’s and throws his arm over the broad shoulders instead, pulling him down and against his own body, making them stumble just a little. “How else am I gonna keep you in line, huh?”

Steve laughs with his head thrown back, the sound loud and light, full of relief and happiness. He’s like a ray of sunshine lighting up the world before the sun can even rise.

Bucky laughs too, as carefree as ever. He thinks about fate. There must be something to it after all.

________________________________________

They head to DC that weekend and spend both days looking for an apartment and even a few actual houses. Tony has Pepper send Steve a list of places, all of which get declined by Steve because they’re, apparently, far too large and unnecessary.

“What exactly do you want, Goldilocks?” Bucky asks, only slightly exasperated. They’ve been at this for hours and he’s the only one that seems frustrated.

“The right place, Dumbo,” Steve replies, utterly unfazed. “And this isn’t it.”

Bucky throws his head back and groans, following Steve over to his motorcycle while the chipper agent sends their next location via text message before she jumps into her car. Bucky hauls himself onto the back of the bike and wraps his arms around Steve’s middle, frowning ( _pouting,_ Steve insists) when the helmet gets plopped onto his head.

Bucky plasters himself against Steve’s back as they take off, grins behind his visor when he sees hands tighten around the handlebars until knuckles go white.

They meet the agent at a more compact-looking house. It’s two stories, modern, with no real yard space but a small balcony on the second floor. The agent lists off some of the qualities she deems important; _laundry room, garage, basement, snack bar._

“Three bedrooms, two baths,” she goes on, leading the way up the front steps to unlock the door. “Very open. I should’ve shown this one to you sooner. It’s perfect!”

They move into the foyer and immediately spot the bathroom in front of them. To the right is the spacious living room, followed by the snack bar and a place for a dining set, and then farther up is the kitchen with an island in the middle. To the left of that, more hidden in the corner, is the family room.

The agent babbles as they view the first floor and Bucky finds himself taking in the details as much as Steve had already been doing the whole time. He runs his fingertips over the countertops, looks inside the pantry, goes into the bathroom to peer through the side window.

Bucky follows them to the second floor. Right off the stairs is a hidden laundry room and a small closet. The large bathroom is across from that, leading into the master bedroom. It has a walk-in closet, which is nice, but he thinks Natasha and Clint would appreciate it more.

They take a quick look inside the other two bedrooms, though Bucky pauses in one for a moment, observing the large window.

“There’s probably a lot of light,” he tells Steve who’s eyeing him from the doorway. “You could draw in here.”

He’s not embarrassed when Steve presses a hand to his neck to pull him forward, resting his soft lips against Bucky’s forehead. But that doesn’t stop the heat from flooding his cheeks.

They breeze through the basement next, both taking note of the storage area that could be used for sparring, and the garage that could probably fit a bike and a car. It’s a nice house, could be a nice _home_. Bucky likes it and so does Steve and that’s that.

Natasha sniggers when Bucky recounts the experience. “Very domestic,” she tells him dryly. He throws a pillow that she dodges with ease.

“It’s way too small!” He hears Tony complaining before he sees him. “How’s it supposed to hold all of us when we come over for dinner? Are you gonna pick favorites?”

“Yep,” Steve says as he rounds the corner, his attention more on the tablet in his hands rather than the man trailing behind him. “You want an invitation, you gotta be on your best behavior.”

Natasha snorts and shifts on the couch, curling her legs closer to her body, like a cat. Bucky doesn’t even look up, just continues to knit the gloves that are nearly finished.

“You’re a crotchety old man, Rogers. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“You’d be the first,” Steve says. He plops down in front of Bucky’s feet, tapping the screen he’s so focused on. And then he twists around, saying, “Hey, look,” while holding out the device for Bucky. He sees a picture of the Howling Commandos, a few years older than he remembers. “Trip says this was the last time they were all together. Neat, huh?”

Bucky smiles, eyes darting over the familiar faces of Dum Dum, Gabe, Frenchie, Morita, and Monty. Peggy’s even there, smiling resvered and pretty from in between Gabe and… Howard Stark. His chest feels a little tight and not in the good way he’s come to know.

“Did he send you any other photos?” Natasha asks quietly, casually, making her voice soothing for Bucky’s benefit.

When Steve slides to the next picture, breathing becomes a little easier.

Natasha asks questions about the photos, demands to know obscure details and funny stories. Steve starts off doing the talking, with Bucky adding his thoughts here and there until he finds himself describing the days before Steve stormed into the fray, the early moments between Bucky and Dum Dum and Gabe and the other soldiers in the 107th. He tells them about how Dum Dum was always cracking jokes and wanted to arm wrestle all the time, beating everyone in their squadron – until a certain super soldier smugly defeated the reigning champ. And then, a little more sober, Bucky mentions one long night on watch where he ended up beating Dum Dum for the first time. It was after Zola’s lab, but no one put two and two together then. Bucky shakes his head, trying to dislodge the blurry memories. He smiles a little when he says, “He’d a liked you,” to Natasha. “Had respect for people who could kick his ass.”

Steve steers the conversation away from those darker moments, keeping Bucky anchored in the present light.

Still, his dreams are unsettling that night. So are Steve’s. He watches his friend jerk awake, listens to the gasp and the tense silence that follows. Bucky wants to make it better for the both of them.

He sits himself up, pushes the sheet down to his waist and presses back against the headboard. His hand slides to Steve’s head, fingers tangling in hair, guiding him up and over to rest his face against Bucky’s torso. Steve goes willingly and even presses an ear against Bucky's chest, straight over the slowing heartbeat.

It’s because he’s so close that Bucky notices the shaking, like Steve’s small and cold and sick again. But no, not this time.

“Hey,” he breathes, slow and deliberate. He leans a little, trying to catch a glimpse of Steve’s face. A wave of distress washes over Bucky when he sees the red, scrunched expression, eyes shut tight and lips pulled down at the corners, trying to keep the sounds from escaping.

Steve’s crying – on the verge of _sobbing_ , really. It hits Bucky deep.

“Steve –” he tries, more urgent this time. But _fuck_ , he doesn’t know what to say. He probably did at one time, but not anymore. He could ask what’s wrong, if it was his dream or something else. Maybe it’s just the stress; PTSD and depression, he has to remind himself, because Steve is so good at hiding it, but it’s all crashing down now. It’s sad and it’s _good_ because Steve needs this, and all Bucky can do is hold on tight, breathe against Steve’s hair, and hope ( _pray_ ) for it to get better.

“You need to take it easy,” Bucky murmurs, like he has any right to give orders when his life is only newly stitched together. But there are holes in Steve’s armor that need patching up and Bucky used to be good at that. Taking care of Steve is the only skill he’s ever wanted.

Steve sniffs. His swallow is audible.

“You okay?”

Bucky isn’t expecting a real truthful answer, but he’s pleased anyway when Steve breathes out, “I’m good.”

He nods, asks, “When’re you gonna see Sam?”

“Noon. Why?”

Bucky smiles weakly even though Steve can’t see it. “Better tell him you had a breakthrough. That’s what it’s called, right?”

There’s a pause before Steve makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like the word _jerk_.

He can’t even remember his own nightmare now but he still doesn’t fall back asleep, is too worried about Steve even though he knows he’ll be okay – or better, at least – by the time he meets Sam in DC to pack up some of the stuff in the apartment Bucky shot through so long ago. He’d declined their offer to tag along, promising to meet them at the new house with Natasha at around 3 or 4 instead.

So in the meantime, after Steve leaves and Bucky eats a peaceful breakfast with Thor, he finishes the black gloves for Natasha. He’d even added red yarn around the fingers because focusing on small details shuts everything else out for a while. He doesn’t move for anything until Natasha appears, wearing ripped jeans and a big sweater, hair up in a bun. It’s getting colder and colder as the days pass so Bucky’s outfit is pretty similar, except unlike Natasha’s sweater, which is supposed to be too large, Bucky’s shirt is only oversized because it belongs to someone a little bigger.

Natasha and Bucky lean against the car in the driveway, huddling in the cold. He doesn’t feel it as much as she does, but the warmth is still nice. He decides that this is a good time to reach into his pocket and pull out the gloves, holding them out in front of her face. She takes them with a slight questioning look, which he ignores, choosing to stare up at the sky instead. In his peripheral, he can see her slip her hands into them with a private smile. His grin goes unhidden and he finds that he likes giving gifts so much he might even make something for Tony.

Sam pulls the large mover’s truck up in front of the house. Steve bypasses it on his motorcycle, squeezing up beside the car in the driveway. He’s wearing a beanie instead of a helmet and Bucky’s about to nag him – until he notices that it’s the blue bobble hat. Part of him thinks Steve wore it on purpose, the little shit.

Bucky follows Steve to the back of the truck as Sam hops out to meet them. The latch gets pulled and the door slides up, revealing several boxes and some large pieces of furniture (bed, couch, table, stacked chairs).

Natasha and Sam start pulling boxes, letting Bucky and Steve get the bigger items. Sam idles by the doorway to watch Steve carry the bed by himself with Bucky following behind, couch straining his metal shoulder.

Bucky hears the grumbled _“Damn super soldiers._ ”

They make a couple of trips and when Steve pulls the table out to take inside, Bucky notices the phonograph. He’s very careful as he takes it out, but he can’t help wondering about the other one from Steve’s room at the tower. He didn’t even check if it survived the bombing. He makes a mental note to ask Tony about it.

Later, they sit at the newly placed table eating pizza and sharing two liters of soda in coffee mugs because they were the easiest to unbox. Their greasy balled up napkins get tossed at each other, content laughter ringing through the half-furnished first floor.

“So…” Natasha draws out with none of her usual poise when Bucky walks her out to the car. She looks like she wants to make a joke but decides against it. Bucky tilts his head and watches her, waiting. “You’ll be alone for hours at a time. I’m not knocking your progress, but are you sure you’re ready for that?”

He knows he is.

“I’ll be fine.”

Natasha studies him, eyes sharp, trying to get under his skin in search for how he really feels, as if he’s lying. They’ve been through so much that he’s like an open book to her now, one that she’s memorized and recited over and over. She might even know him as well as Steve, maybe even more since she can look at him objectively.

Whatever she’s able to see in him, he’ll never know, but she’s pleased nonetheless. She looks almost serene when she says, “So you reached your destination.”

Natasha’s an enigma, but these past few months have revealed hints at solving her. No one will ever do it, not completely (Bucky might get halfway there; Barton might get even closer), but he can read her, even just a little bit. He knows what she needs to hear.

“Even people like us don’t have to run forever.”

It’s the truth. Maybe that means something to her these days.

Natasha pecks his cheek before she slips into the driver’s seat, starting up the car and rolling down her window. Bucky braces himself against the car so he can peer inside before she backs out of the driveway.

“Should I call you in the morning?”

Bucky’s expression twists in thought before he decides, “Nah. After you land. And stay out of trouble.”

She smirks. “You too.”

Sam’s on his way out by the time Bucky reenters the house, so they say their goodbyes and pat each other’s shoulder’s in passing. The empty pizza boxes and soda bottles are stacked on the counter, ready to be taken out to the trashcan, but it can wait until morning. For now, Bucky makes a beeline for the couch, pulling open a box labeled _BEDDING._ Similarly, Steve plops down next to him with the _BATHROOM_ box. Bucky will have to thank Sam for labeling things so precisely because he knows for certain it wasn’t Steve.

Bucky pulls another box over to himself, the one from the safe house holding their diminished wardrobes and uniforms, but his eyes keep flickering to the record player near the front window. He stands and crosses the room, leans down in front of the crate where a small collection of vinyl’s are wrapped carefully. He wants to touch them, but hesitates.

Steve notices. “Looking for something?” he asks.

Bucky keeps his back turned and shrugs. “When I –” _broke into your apartment,_ “went looking for you, there was a song I heard. Somethin’ about standing close?”

He hears Steve’s breath, followed by the rustling sound of a box being pushed to the side, and then footsteps. Steve crouches down next to him to rifle through the crate, squinting to see the titles through the bubble wrap. Bucky watches Steve pull it out and place it under the needle, startles a little when that trumpet sound cuts through the air.

Steve stares at where the music’s coming from as if he can see the notes drifting through the air. Bucky wonders if there’s some sort of meaning behind the song, but doesn’t dare interrupt to ask. Not now.

Steve turns as the music starts to shift with more instruments and a real tune. It sounds almost dreamy to him now, unlike before when he’d heard it in the apartment. He listens carefully, observes the change in Steve’s posture; the straightening of shoulders, head held high as he questions, “You gonna lead?”

It sounds like the next part of a conversation they weren’t having, a continuation of the unspoken _Do you want to dance_?

Bucky stands hastily and reaches, metal palm against flesh palm, arms out to the side. His right hand gets placed against Steve’s back, down towards the middle, and he adds pressure to force them closer so they’re chest-to-chest, tummy-to-tummy, with just enough space between their groins so they barely brush when they move their legs. It’s a position Bucky hasn’t been in for decades, a dance he shouldn’t remember, and yet it comes back so naturally. It amazes him that his muscles can remember something so gentle when all they’re used to is violent actions.

The voice of the female singer comes on just as they start their steps.

_Never thought that you would be standing her so close to me, there’s so much I feel that I should say, but words can wait until some other day._

He steps to the side, waits a beat for Steve to follow before moving one foot back. They move something like that, rotating slowly in a circle as they hear the words that drive them forward.

_Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again. It’s been a long, long time._

Bucky hadn’t heard this part of the song before. He stares up at Steve, almost faltering in his steps. That never-ending gaze keeps him afloat even while it drowns him.

_Haven’t felt like this, my dear, since can’t remember when. It’s been a long, long time._

Bucky’s gaze stays locked on Steve’s face as they dance slowly. He feels the compulsion to shut his eyes, but ignores it in favor of trying to decode the emotions behind Steve’s stare.

_You’ll never know how many dreams I dream about you. Or just how empty they all seem without you…_

They sway, knees bending and bodies brushing with every tiny movement, breaths caressing skin. Bucky could probably count the eyelashes framing Steve’s baby blues if he had the patience – and if he could stop staring down at those parted lips.

_So kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again. It’s been a long, long time…_

As it is, Bucky’s already warm and tingly, barely aware of his movements. His lidded eyes don’t stand a chance of staying open when Steve tilts his head down those short few inches to kiss Bucky feather-light at the corner of his mouth.

Steve stays in that teasing spot while they sway for a few more moments, until Bucky turns his head to seize a real kiss. Broad shoulders sag and Steve pulls his hand out of the metal grip to place on Bucky’s jaw instead, caressing his fingers against the stubble there. The tenderness of it all is _so much_.

The trumpet blows on in the background, wiping out every thought except _more_. And he takes it, too, wraps his arm around Steve’s neck and hauls him down, misjudging the weight and falling onto his ass with Steve’s teeth sinking into his lip. It’s pain that he’ll never mind.

Steve tries to mumble out an apology when Bucky pulls back to wipe at his lip, but he doesn’t get very far before Bucky’s surging forward again, head tilted up to capture Steve’s mouth heatedly. He can tell the song is getting closer to its end, but his attention is on where to put his hands and how to breathe through the spikes of excitement shooting through him rather than the jazz filtering through the air until it stops completely.

The window in the kitchen is still open from trying to get rid of the smell of pizza, so Bucky can hear the rare passing car, mumbled voices or rustling wind. He can hear rain from outside and closer, braced above him, Steve’s quiet exhale of breath, taking in oxygen like he can’t get enough, is already out of breath despite his bettered lungs. Bucky feels the same way.

Tongues lick into mouths, exploring, tasting. Bucky feels the vibrations of a hum more than he hears it. It tickles and makes him grin, interrupting the kiss with clacking teeth because Steve’s smiling, too. Both of them are drunk on this feeling. If Bucky was a sap (and he knows he is, really, but he’s also scared), he’d say he was drunk on love.

And then Steve mouths at Bucky’s jaw, his hot breath puffing out against skin while the tip of his tongue leaves a damp line. It invokes a full-body shiver so Bucky pulls Steve closer out of reflex. Those soft, wet lips trail his jaw insistently, down to his neck, making Bucky swallow and tilt his head back, thumping it against the floor. There’s a tightness in his belly and his chest falls and rises rapidly.

His fingers twitch before they grip the back of Steve’s head, digging into hair. He yanks Steve away, not too rough, but enough to get him to drop onto his back so Bucky can roll atop him in one swift motion. What they’re doing is more like a fight than a dance and he’s okay with that, more comfortable and better suited now.

A moan flies out of Steve’s mouth when Bucky leans forward, his lower half pressing hard against Steve’s, and he notices it then, the evidence of arousal both of them are displaying. Steve lifts his hips up off the floor, either trying to get some friction or throw Bucky off. He doesn’t know which and needs to be sure, so he pauses, waits with his head resting on Steve’s chin, nose at the bared collarbone. Steve shifts up again, deliberate, testing the reaction. Bucky moves until his lips hover over Steve’s ear, enjoying the shiver it causes. 

He rolls his hips down against Steve’s then, curious and needy. The response makes heat rush through his body, headed from his face and chest to pool southward.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve whispers, like he’s in awe. “Are you, uh –?”

“Wha’?” It comes out mumbled against Steve’s cheek now that he’s trying to shift himself to fit between tense sprawled thighs.

But Steve forces him back easily, pulls both of them up onto unsteady feet. His body trembles with a sigh. “We should stop.”

Bucky grabs Steve’s wrist. His expression manages to morph into something confused, though he’s probably still mostly slack-jawed and dumb-eyed. “Why? Because you’ve never…” It’s just a guess, but the way Steve’s eyes dart away is telling.

Despite that, however, Steve shakes his head. It’s not about Steve’s inexperience; it’s about Bucky’s state of mind.

“I _want_ to,” Bucky stresses, though he doesn’t exactly know what _want to_ entails _._ Just _something_ – good and right and, “Dammit, Steve.”

Steve kisses him, long and bruising, hands cradling Bucky’s face like he’s holding him together right before he’s about to take him apart.

 _Fuck, please_ , he thinks.

He doesn’t realize he’s actually said it out loud until Steve whispers, voice hoarse, “Yeah. Okay. _Okay._ ”

________________________________________

It’s awkward. Noses bump. Teeth bite too hard. Trying to rub up against each other through two pairs of jeans and underwear does barely anything but tease and frustrate.

It’s nerve-wracking. Bucky’s known Steve for so long, but at the same time it feels as if they’re just getting the hang of each other. There’s a moment where he thinks he can’t catch his breath and nearly starts to panic, causing Steve to back off and turn pale like he’s done something wrong. He doesn’t know how to explain that he’s just not used to the influx of new emotions, the pleasure and desire. Actions are louder than words anyway.

It’s hot and wet and rushed when Bucky gets brave enough to pop the bottom on Steve’s pants and push his hand inside to squeeze. Steve sounds like Bucky’s punched him, sounds like he loves it. And when Steve reciprocates the motion, slender fingers dipping into tight pants, Bucky has no control over his tongue and thinks vaguely he might be whispering curse words in Russian right along with Steve’s name, reverent as anything.

It’s the best thing Bucky’s ever known.

________________________________________

Later, when Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night to wash off what he hadn’t before he’d fallen asleep, he asks Steve about the song, just curious. He learns that it came out in 1945 and got really popular at the end of the war. It’s about welcoming soldiers home. Steve hadn’t heard the song until they’d defrosted him 70 years later, but Bucky has to remember that it only felt like days for Steve. Days since he lost Bucky. Days since he chose to crash that plane.

And Steve admits that he’d listened to it over and over again, wishing the words were true for them.

Bucky kisses Steve’s temple, his silent way of saying that they are.

________________________________________

They get into a pretty seamless routine after a few days. Bucky helps at the tower, talks to Natasha (or listens to Barton ramble aimlessly for at least an hour) while Steve goes to what he can call actual work because he’s getting paid for it. There’s already a position for Bucky to take, but he’s not so sure he wants it.

Pepper’s sent them three packages already, full of things for the house that they’ll apparently need but never get themselves. Sam even comes by with bags of groceries once. There’s a lot of green stuff that Bucky makes faces at, but there’s a box of apple pie too, and that makes Steve’s eyes shine bright.

He doesn’t know if Steve’s given keys to all their friends or what because they’re somehow always around without both of them knowing. Like when Bucky gets out of the shower and pads into the empty kitchen with a towel around his waist, he notices printer paper stuck against the refrigerator with magnets and a note on the counter that says _For future reference – Sam._ Bucky stares at the papers without moving them, scanning the words. One page is titled _Tips For Grounding Yourself During A Flashback_ , with descriptions and instructions for each of the senses that will help anchor you in the present. The page underneath says _healthy habits for veterans with PTSD_ , followed by a list _._ He shoots Sam a simple thank you text and hopes that Steve will read the information thoroughly when he gets home.

None of them notice that it’s December, days away from Christmas; not even with the constant snow outside. So Tony throws a small party at the tower that’s pretty much all finished, save for a few technical details. He invites everyone that stood by them against the Skrulls and everyone (minus Doctor Strange) shows up.

He’s dragged into the crowd of dancers by Natasha, interrupted by a tipsy Sam, and then dragged to the side by a semi-bashful Steve.

“No kissing,” Steve warns. “Don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Bucky laughs quietly at that, pinches Steve’s cheek teasingly though his eyes roam over the sweater stretched tight across the chest pressed to his.

With his chin on Steve’s shoulder, Bucky can watch Natasha and Barton sway slowly to the music in a dim corner and can see Jane and Thor embracing near the doorway under mistletoe. Tony and Pepper are seated at the bar, giggling, sipping at eggnog that has very little alcohol. Carol, Rhodey, and a guy called Happy stand near the table of junk food, chatting as they eat.

Bucky smiles when he sees Wanda trying to teach Victor how to move less mechanically. Pietro’s attention is, for once, not on his sister, but on his conversation with Banner and Luke. Melinda and Coulson and Trip all have eyes on Maria Hill as she dances with Sam nearby, close and comfortable. Bucky hadn’t noticed that before, but he can’t be faulted, not when all he can focus on is Steve and his close proximity, his apple spice smell and sunshine smile and sky eyes that are wise and childlike all at the same time.

The way Steve looks at Bucky – well, it’s the same way Bucky looks at Steve.

He presses their lips together gently and despite Steve's earlier warning, they find enough self-control not to tackle each other to the floor. The kiss is short and gentle and fills him with life.

They head for home before the party’s over, leaving their hastily purchased gifts and calling out goodbye’s. They shouldn’t ride the bike in the snow but they do it anyway. Bucky closes his eyes and breathes in the icy air, loving it as much as the warmth of Steve’s back pressed to his chest.

When they’re dressed in their pajamas and sprawled across the couch, watching some holiday film on their television, Steve flings an envelope carefully onto the coffee table. Bucky eyes it cautiously before glancing up at Steve for an explanation.

“Merry Christmas, Bucky,” Steve tells him, a soft smile curling his lips.

Bucky sighs. “I told you not to –”

“It’s for both of us,” Steve assures him. “Just take a look.”

Bucky does as he’s asked. He reaches for the envelope and pulls open the unstuck-flap until he can see clearly inside. Two tickets to Ireland.

Bucky knows, of course, that they could just take a jet and go on their own, without passports and other passengers. But this is different. Having actual, legal tickets _means_ something, and that’s almost as important as the trip itself.

He bites his lip, trying and failing to stop his grin. The tickets get strewn across the table, though he appreciates them greatly, in favor of curling his fingers around Steve’s jaw.

They don’t finish the movie.

________________________________________

The trip isn’t for another few days luckily, because right now the Avengers are needed. The presence of the Guardians had brought down some weird slimy creatures. Earth is a magnet for crazy happenings, but Bucky doesn’t think they’d have it any other way.

“Who’s on duty?” Tony asks over the video feed.

Steve’s already off to the side, suiting up. “Whoever answers the call,” Steve tells him.

“And what’s the call?”

Bucky rolls his eyes at Tony’s eagerness. He just wants to hear Steve say it.

“Avengers assemble.”

And they do. Steve and Bucky and Natasha and Tony and Barton and Sam and Banner and Thor. Danvers and Vision and Lang come, too. Thor mentions something about the creatures (Bucky can’t remember their names) being sent in search of things called the Infinity Gems. It sounds serious, but they don’t get to talk for long, needing to stop Queens from being covered in goo.

The fight is silly; slime instead of blood, slipping instead of explosions, laughter instead of screams. Bucky could do this all day. It’s something he’s learned from Steve.

He ends up having to pull Steve up from underneath one of the disgusting jello bodies as Thor destroys their pods, cutting off their continuous arrival. Steve looks sort of affronted by it all and Bucky can’t help snorting in amusement.

Steve really should be the one to take the first shower when they get home, but he offers it up to Bucky so he can attempt to clean off his shield, as if that were more important than his body. Bucky tries to be quick, scrubs off the dirt and gunk, rubs shampoo that smells like mint and grapefruit through his hair.

Steve’s waiting at the door by the time Bucky gets out, already half naked. They brush shoulders in passing, words like _easy_ and _normal_ and _content_ coming to the forefront of his mind.

Grabbing his dirty uniform after getting dressed, he starts emptying all the compartments to get it ready for a wash. His heart skipping is involuntary when he slips his hand inside the zipper pocket only to find his fingers curling around nothing, the strip of paper he’s become so attached to gone. He tries to keep a clear head, thinks. The pocket was zipped up, so he checks for any holes that the crumpled fortune cookie paper might’ve slipped through. There are none. He sifts through the weapons he’d placed on the dresser and pauses, relieved and confused when he finds what he’s looking for. Maybe he’d pulled it out without noticing?

He grabs it. The words _you are the guiding star of his existence_ are still faded, but there’s something on the other side now, blue ink in the form of tiny scribbled letters.

Steve had written clearly, simply: _You are._

He can’t even begin to describe the swell of emotions those two words give him.

Bucky sets the paper down carefully and looks around the room, biting his lip in thought. His eyes settle on one of Steve’s sketchbooks on the edge of the bed, still where he left it this morning, pencil stuck in the spiral. He grabs it quickly, doesn’t give himself time to think, and flips to the next blank page. In the very corner he scrawls out his feelings in three small, barely legible words.

He tries to act like nothing’s happened when Steve emerges from the shower. They eat pancakes for dinner and bicker over what stupid show to watch until they fall asleep on the couch with their feet up on the coffee table.

________________________________________

Bucky can remember what a bullet piercing his skin feels like. He can recall blades of knives getting past his armor. He knows his bones have been broken, knows almost exactly what happened to him and how he got his metal arm.

Bucky is good at what he does and doesn’t need to be told to know it. He can be a ghost if he chooses, though he sticks to working with his team, his _family._ Bucky can do more than any man, because he’s  _more_ _than just_ a man; he’s a fighter, a brother, a friend. A lover. He’s a killer and a savior of humanity (he's modest enough not to call himself such a thing. Stark, however…).

Bucky knows what pain feels like, can remember it even when he thinks he’s finally forgotten. But that’s okay because he knows what happiness feels like, too; lives it every day in so many little ways.

Bucky can remember. He can remember a fierce mother, a hard working father. Sister’s he would’ve devoted his life to protecting if he hadn’t met some scrappy little punk on the schoolyard. He remembers kissing girls behind greasy spoons and punching guys in back alleys, sneaking into shows and lazing around a threadbare couch. He remembers pain and blood and explosions, fear and death, darkness and cold. Falling. He remembers Steve – small and sickly or big and strong, but either way so brave and righteous and caring.

(He tries not to remember HYDRA or beating his best friend’s face in, and is usually successful most days.)

________________________________________

One night, Steve comes into the room after drawing for hours. Bucky watches him crawl onto the bed, lets the book be pulled out of his hands so Steve can drape himself over Bucky’s body like a blanket.

“Hey, Buck,” he says with a twitch to his lips, obviously trying not to smile.

Bucky looks at him and there’s nothing but fondness in his gaze. “Hey, pal,” he huffs out. “What’s on your mind?”

Steve’s eyes dart between his. Several seconds pass before he leans down to press a kiss up underneath Bucky’s jaw, on his neck over the pulse point. His lips linger there, breath tickling skin when he whispers, voice almost gleeful, “Love you, too.”

________________________________________

Bucky can remember and it’s good, but his life with Steve is even better. And no matter what happens, they’re with each other. Until the end of the line.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theme from the stars // stars (it's a beautiful song!)  
> together // the xx
> 
> also: it's been a long, long time // harry james & his orchestra + kitty kallen
> 
> WELL IT'S FINISHED. I wanted to make this chapter sweet and fluffy and everything, but all the stuff I wanted to put in kept making it seem disjointed? But oh well, I did it anyway because it was the last chapter and I didn't want to compromise. I really focused on the Bucky/Steve stuff here, so I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I know I've said so many times how much I appreciate you guys, but I really, really mean it. Getting your comments has made my days better. I started writing this story late in April and here we are, August 1st, finally finished. And when I started my intention was just to write about Bucky's recovery, like in the early chapters, but then I started thinking about plot and all these things started coming together, fitting into place (and when they didn't, I had to jot down other ideas). I had two separate documents outlining basic events I wanted to happen and then all the details came as I was writing. It was hard. This story is obviously no masterpiece, but you guys are so sweet and made me want to keep going and I feel like I improved as I went. Some comments mentioned how you were happy you gave this story a shot. Well, I'm happy, too!
> 
> I hope this final chapter makes you guys happy. I tried to wrap everything up as well as I could without closing it completely... like how I threw in that mention of the Infinity Gems. :P However, I did add closure to that fortune cookie paper which appeared way more than originally intended! haha.
> 
> I kept thinking "how can I end this story without it being disappointing?" The answer: I don't know. I did what came to me and now I'm hoping for the best.
> 
> If you have any questions or just want to mention something about the story, feel free to ask in a comment. I reply to them all. Also, I have a tumblr, but I was kind of hesitant of adding a link, mostly because I'm just embarrassed. But y'know, what the heck, [HERE](http://just-whelmed.tumblr.com) you go.
> 
> I'm not sure what else I can say right now other than THANK YOU. THANK YOU SO MUCH. Thank you for sticking around and commenting and adding kudos and enjoying, if you did. It brings me such great joy. I'll probably add a couple of oneshots to this universe at some point, but now my thoughts are on what I could write next. I just can't give up on Stucky and feel the need to write them in a different setting, maybe an AU. I have no clue. I don't know what you guys want to see, so I'll have to think about it.
> 
> Quick shoutout to some of these wonderful commenters: littleharmony, who left so many amazing and inspiring comments that I looked forward tremendously; fandomfix, who was very supportive; stringlish, who was also incredibly inspiring and sweet. To ook and others who blew my mind when they said that this was the best CATWS Bucky recovery fic that they've read, and to ballvwasher who said that my Thor was the only Thor in fic they liked. WOW WOW WOW. Also, kallisto, malia, kat, rae, and afrieal who left me some memorable comments. And to everyone who bookmarked, left kudos, or just kept coming back to read. I appreciate you all. 
> 
> Anyway, this is it. The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot is over. I had fun, so thank you. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Story title + chapter titles come from The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot by Brand New.
> 
> (Oh, and I'm not great at editing, so sorry about all the mistakes that are bound to appear.)


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